The Argus Butterfly
by AeonXBorealis
Summary: Robot Default's life isn't quite as normal and hum-drum as he believes it to be: Things start turning upside down when he discovers his biological mother is Nicole Watterson, his cousin's imaginary friend Princess Invisible is real, and his father Bricklin has an ambiguous and strange past/connections with the God of Death's son, Death the Kid. Drama and heartache ensue.
1. Chapter 1: Kiss on my List

1: Kiss on My List

Sunlight blasted in through the canopy overhead, painting the world in a splash of vibrant, delicious color. It felt like everyone had drank a glass of yellow sunbeams and they glowed as they smiled and walked through the streets of Elmore. No, Nicole corrected herself; it wasn't sunshine, but a healhy dose of Love Potion no. 9 instead.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, a happy teenage couple passed her. She rolled her eyes at their 70s attire and roller skates. Kids trying to be retro. Unlike other young adults her age, Nicole didn't really have a soft spot or inexorable nostalgia for her childhood. Reminiscing only lead to bitter, teeth grinding thoughts of a certain teacher that took every chance to belittle her self-confidence and image. Sighing, Nicole approached her current workplace, the library, with her hands plunged in her jeans pockets.

Now wasn't the time to be so angry, or vitriol. Yet, she was; her thoughts churning and spitting acid despite herself. As she pushed open the glass door and looked at the quiet, tranquil atmosphere, she couldn't help the inner surge of despair. Nicole was a woman of action; she needed to be doing something, working on _something_. Perhaps, that's why she felt so tumultuous inside?

As she took her place at the front desk, Nicole groaned as she sank into the office chair. Next to her, one of her co-workers was sitting with her legs crossed and looking contented as she read a book of poetry. The other woman was a petite and curvy antlered peanut fond of wearing cowboy boots; Nicole vaguely remembered being in classes with her in middle and high school, but the woman never talked to anyone except clients. Otherwise, her nose was buried in a book.

Her other co-worker wasn't any better: he was a big and burly antlered peanut that spent the day looking irritated, showing kids where certain books were, then looking for lint specks on his desk. A few times, Nicole tried to get him to talk, and he either responded with noncommital grunts or the cold shoulder.

Gritting her teeth, Nicole fell forward onto the desk and looked longingly at the front door. Of course, nobody was there. Nobody usually came to the library until it'd been open for at least an hour. Wait, there was one person...but he was lost in his own little world, paying more attention to the process of printing photo copies than anything else.

An entire hour passed, every second feeling like an unbearable eternity as Nicole just sat there, _waiting_. Just like she did every day since she'd been hired here.

The doors to the Elmore Library were pushed open with a dramatic, harried flourish. Where Nicole had been absentmindedly rolling a penny around in her palm before, she looked up now, eyes wide and ears perked up.

A tall, burly chested robotic man rolled into the library. He looked upscale and sophisticated in a clean cut and pressed suit jacket. Diamond cufflinks flashed briefly, a detail only highlighting that he was wealthy, opulent. As he wandered further into the library, Nicole couldn't seem to draw her eyes away from him. She even felt her heartbeat pick up slightly.

Her subconscious mind led to her getting up and walking out from behind the desk. Unbidden, thoughts of a corporate job flashed through her mind: busywork, the possibility of moving up and getting further and better employment opportunity. The way the robot man's brass chassis shined in the flourescent light, Nicole felt like it was a quiet, inviting promise to make those subliminal wishes come to fruition.

Next thing she knew, she was standing barely three feet away from him. And now, he turned from looking studiously at books to staring at her. Studying her.

At first, their gazes were locked awkwardly, but then his gaze shifted from her eyes, scruntinizing her from feet to head and back. The sweeping gaze was something out of fiction, the kind of sleazeball move that made Nicole more likely to turn away prospective suitors. Yet, she didn't turn him down, despite the warning bells echoing in her mind.

"Hello, miss," he said in the polite, slightly charming voice she'd imagined he might have. "I'm Damien Default."

"Nicole Perkins," she replied. "You looked like you needed help finding something?"

Damien smiled, folding his arms behind his back. "I did come in here with that intention," he said. "But...I've changed my mind. I'm not so sure if what I was going to look for is the type of book I really want to look for now."

As he spoke, Nicole felt her heartbeat pick up a little. Part of her was excited while another part was rattled and nervous. It felt like Damien was using subtle entendres.

"So, how could I help you now?" she asked, a tingle running down her spine at the sparkle that zipped across Damien's glass eyes for a brief second.

"What would you recommend for me, Nicole?" he asked, putting emphasis on that he was referring to her by her first name. "From your _personal_ favorites?"

Nicole thought for a second. As a child, she used to spend a lot of time reading in between karate lessons and being the captain of her basketball team. But, as she'd grown older, she'd lost interest in spending too much time reading for pleasure.

"I can't really recommend anything specific," Nicole admitted. "Though, I've always loved inspirational sports stories and action adventure."

"Sports," Damien mused over the word, chewing it like a bite of steak. "So, what's your _favorite_ sport, Nicole?"

Damien was really beginning to unnerve Nicole. Her original intentions for approaching him were getting lost in her "get away from the creep" vibes. By now it was blatantly obvious, even to the romantically inept and naieve, that Damien really wasn't interested in looking for a book.

Nervously, Nicole cast a look over her shoulder, scouting for her single co-worker. She knew it was crooked, but Nicole knew she had to pawn Damien off somehow...In her peripheral vision, Nicole caught a glimpse of her two co-workers covertly leaving the desk. And, the woman had a very starstruck expression on her face as she looked at the man.

That was the most explicit display of emotion Nicole had ever seen on her face...

Blowing out a breath, Nicole turned back towards Damien. "I know what you're doing," she hissed.

"What _am_ I doing?" Damien replied coyly.

"Come with me," Nicole instructed, trying to sound calm and pleasant.

"Lead the way," Damien added unnecessarily, making a dramatic gesture with his hand. Hunching her shoulders, Nicole stalked past him and started power walking through the mazes of books. She could hear Damien's wheel rolling, a soft shuffle on the puce carpeting. Soon enough, they reached the side door and Nicole pushed it open, stepping out into the sunlight.

Birds twittered in the background, creating an atmospheric disconnect with her unease. If only she could be a happy, carefree animal enjoying this sunshine drenched and beautiful day.

She turned to face Damien again, taking note of how he pulled at his shirt sleeve and scoffed at a nearby dumpster. They were in an empty alley, in-between the side wall of the library and the back of a mom and pop grocery store. As soon as he was done giving his surroundings the stink eye, Damien rounded back towards Nicole.

"Okay," Nicole huffed. "I'm not interested."

Damien smirked. "Straightforward."

"Back off," Nicole grumbled. "I told you that I'm not interested. And it is what it is. I've dealt with persistent womanizing types before, so don't think I know what tricks you have up your sleeve. Don't even try it."

"So, this is how you get with me being a _casual_ flirt?" Damien challenged.

For some reason, Damien's comment made Nicole flashback to last night: _Richard standing on the front lawn of the house they'd been sharing. Richard, shirtless and gut sloshing as he dragged his __suitcases and action figures across the lawn and hefted them into the back of his mother's car. _

"_I need a break, Nicole," Richard gasped as his mom looked around him and glared daggers at Nicole. "I need time to figure this out. I'm not sure if I'm ready for commitment."_

Coming back to reality, Nicole felt her ears flatten and her heart deflate. She'd been in love with Richard since she was a little girl. One of the pillars of her life, something she considered fact despite no scientific evidence or concrete proof, was that Richard was 'the one.' There'd been other guys that flirted with her, other guys that she'd found herself attracted to, but no matter what happened, she always found herself going back to Richard. She'd even turned down handsome, intelligent, and Mr. Perfect types simply because of some inner knowledge that she didn't want the same archetype that other girls did.

She didn't want Richard to mold him or even change him. She'd always loved Richard for exactly who he was: a naieve, childish, and imaginative soul. Nobody else understood this, because for most people, loving somebody for exactly who they were was a concept they didn't grasp or want to accept until much later on in life. Yet, even though this spiel had been exactly what had cured Nicole's self doubts and resisted wordly pressure in the past. Now, looking into Damien's blazing and curious eyes...she wasn't quite so sure that was enough.

"From the look on your face, you're obviously musing over something," Damien cut through her thoughts. "Having second thoughts?"

"No," Nicole replied flatly, eyes narrowed. "The next time I see you, if ever, I'll be applying for a job."

"There, the tables will be turned and you don't know if I'd use this as a strike against you," Damien interjected.

"Yes," Nicole acknowledged, one eyebrow raised. "But, rejection is a natural part of life. One I'm willing to accept whether I'm giving or receiving it."

With that, she turned and pulled open the door, gesturing Damien back inside.

"Thank you," he muttered as he shuffled back in. Nicole watched him leave, his broad shoulders not lowering even in the slightest. Of course he wouldn't show any signs of having a chip on his shoulder outwardly, but Nicole couldn't help wondering if he was used to rejection.

Some businessmen were as successful as Damien appeared due to incredible persistence and resilience; those men were used to the word "no" and accepted it as an inevitable reality. Yet, there were some at the same level that could crumble and collapse because of that simple word, but what made them powerful was how they persevered at getting their way no matter what rather than accepting reality.

A chill ran through Nicole as she wondered which type Damien might be...

Richard had always been a lazy dreamer and escapist; no big dreams or hopes of the future, just living every day with a big, stupid grin on his face. His neverending childhood wonder complemented Nicole's opportunist world views and ambitious personality, giving her something to smile at and glean optimism from. And he gained the inspiration to draw poorly constructed, but endearing crayon sketches of the two of them holding hands and going on tandem adventures when he closed his eyes and wandered off into his mind...

An entire week had passed since Richard had "broken up" with her. Nicole was more hollow than a log, her sweetest daydreams of finally settling down and having kids with Richard someday, somehow very vague and faraway. Each day, her hopes that he'd return, telling her that he'd made up his mind and chosen to stay with her, were getting more and more strewn out. She could imagine him loked up in his room, reading comic books, and just ignoring the conflict of where they sat in their relationship.

If only she could get herself to do the same. Instead, she thought about it obsessively while she was at work. Then, she was overwhelmingly aware of how empty her bed was at night and couldn't sleep because of collapsing into angst, tears, or loud and tumultuous fits of frustration or anger.

She was so tempted to just confront Richard outright, to talk things out, but...She sighed. That'd only complicate things further. There was a good reason why he'd chosen to step out and be alone for awhile. This time, it'd been his decision rather than his overprotective mother's.

Though, here she was with a group of friends at the local bar. All of her happy and single friends were laughing loudly as they poked at half-empty glasses and whispered to each other. Some were even luring unsuspecting guys over, flirting openly and shameslessly.

Nicole looked at the rows and rows of different liquor bottles: green, olive, and maroon colored bottles. The sight made her feel slightly nauceous; she'd never been interested in drinking before now. She'd made it through high school and graduated college without getting anywhere near alcohol. A fact that she prided herself on.

Though, she hadn't been this intimidated by life since dealing with Miss Simian and her childhood tribulations. So much conflict and tension. The moment was highlighted by the radio station pouring through the bar cuing up Hall and Oates' "Kiss on My List." _That's the song Richard said was ours..._

Heart aching, Nicole felt a lump in her throat as she motioned at the bartender. The words "wine cooler" were pressed behind her lips, but something else entirely came out.

The bartender smiled as he turned away and Nicole could feel physical pressure from the collective surprised and wide eyed stares of her friends. Moments later, a big margrita glass filled with green liquid and a tiny umbrella swimming in it landed on the counter top in front of her. As if on cue, her friends started chanting: "Go Nicole! Go Nicole!"

Nicole stared at the green surface for a moment; it was so thick, she couldn't see her reflection. That was probably a good thing, considering she could only imagine how much reluctance and hesitation she'd find in her facial expression. Her mind was already screaming at her, screaming "NO!"

"_...rejection is just a natural part of life." _The words echoed, unbidden, in some unknown recess of Nicole's mind. She knew she'd said them, but she couldn't remember where.

It was enough to make the stretched cordons of her morals and self preservation snap. She grabbed the stem of the giant glass and started chugging. Green liquid spilled around her mouth, down her face. Her friends' yelling grew into a fratboy roar. It mixed with the burn of tequila hitting her tongue, singeing her throat with dragon's fire.

Green mint, peppermint. Stinging fire.

Visions of ice capped mountains in the arctic danced through Nicole's mind. She hadn't realized that her eyes were closed, but they shot back open as she slammed the now empty glass on the counter. The world had a new, fuzzy tinge to it. Her throat was still burning, but Nicole felt revived and energized. _Did I just swallow a pheonix?_

This new feeling, Nicole felt herself instantly addicted. Absentmindedly, Nicole was sliding dollar bills across the counter top. Everything just became brighter and more bubbly as she downed more and different drinks. Her heart was singing, soaring, just like her body. Letting go of her mind was one of the best things Nicole had ever done.

As the night wore on, Nicole found herself arm in arm with her girls as they all hit the dance floor, dancing to New Wave songs that she avoided like the plague when she was sober. Yet, here, she was singing along with the bright and ridiculous lyrics. Duran Duran pulsed through the bar and Nicole was starting to get hoarse, hiccupping and laughing the last few lines to "Hungry Like the Wolf." As the song faded, Nicole looked around. Most of her friends had segued to dark corners of the bar or were sitting with or against guys, drunkenly chatting them up in hopes of getting more drinks.

Cheerful Duran Duran faded into a softer, more mellow tune where a singer Nicole had never heard before started crooning about falling in love. Low, sultry tones from a trumpet played as an unexpected figure slid up out of the shadows: Damien Default.

Damien extended a hand to her and asked, "Want to dance, lovely lady?"

Nicole stared into the distance for a long beat before smiling drukenly and taking his hand. She smiled and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Hiya, Casanova! Take me to Wonderland..."

Damien shamelessly pulled her close, barely leaving an inch or two between them. They swayed back and forth, not even trying to match the rhythym of the song. He seemed to bob and swerve back and forth sporadically and his breath stank of whiskey. The smell enticed and allured Nicole in the strangest way. She found herself leaning in closer to Damien, nostrils flaring as she sniffed.

"Are we in Wonderland, yet?" Nicole asked with a giddy grin.

"The music took me to Wonderland," Damien replied, smiling. "Didn't it take you, too? Sweep you away on wings and wind of wandering wonderful wonder?"

"What a way with words!" Nicole chirped, falling into a spastic giggle fit. "Yes, yes, take me away on an autumn aerial aeronautic adventure. To aesthetically amazing aceology. Accoy me, like your namesake, Damien boy!"

"Clever girl," Damien cooed, reaching up and cupping Nicole's cheek in his palm. "I want to cut in on the w-words and have a dance with your tongue."

"Whaaaaat?" Nicole just looked at him with wide, bright eyes.

"Tongue tango," Damien emphasized, coming in closer.

"I don't know how to tango..." Nicole slurred, smiling dopily. "Never had the time to learn...So busy..."

"Let me teach you," Damien urged in a low, sultry tone of voice. He strategically moved his hand to the small of her back, gently pushing her in closer. In reply, Nicole wrapped her arms around him and leaned in, pressing her muzzle against his cold, mechanical lips. The kiss was sloppy and wet, like diving into a cold and unpleasant swimming pool. Damien's metaphor had been pretty literal: his tongue had already sneaked past her lips. It swiveled like a toilet brush, side to side, over the top of her mouth. Eagerly, Nicole tried to return the reckless fervor, but just couldn't match Damien.

They were liplocked for close to twenty minutes, hands all up and down the other's backs. Fireworks sparked and rolled in Nicole's subconscious. Damien was a virtual dynamo. She could only imagine what he'd been like in high school; he'd probably had lots of previous practice and experience with how vigorous and talented he was here.

At some point, they stopped. Still holding on to Damien, Nicole was trilling and rolling with laughter. Flopping about, she landed against Damien's chest and looked up at him with round, full moon eyes.

"W-where have you been all my life...?" she muttered. "Richard never romanced me like that. I want more. More, more, more..."

"Arpa _never _lets me romance her," Damien complained to no one in particular. "She'd rather be uptight and high society snooty."

"She sounds boooooring," Nicole mooed.

"I work so hard all day," Damien continued, tears sparkling at the edges of his eyes. "I'm the breadwinner. The moneymaker. It's so unfair."

"Preach it!" Nicole whooped.

"If I want a little nookie every now and then...is that _so wrong_?" Damien cried theatrically. "I even build up to it. Damn it, woman. Other men don't have that kind of patience."

"Richard won't even do chores!" Nicole echoed. "Just when I think men and women are equal, I fall for a man that takes me for granted then takes an eternity to figure out what I've known forever. Get your head out of the clouds and show _me_ the attention that you do in your daydreams!"

"What a prude!"

"Screw them!" Nicole declared with a hiccup. "Let's go do what those losers _won't_ do!"

"I like that idea, _New_ Arpa..."

Nicole felt like she'd just won in a ferocious debacle with sleep paralysis as her eyelids slid open. She blinked a few times, her head spinning and throbbing painfully. It took an entire two minutes for Nicole to find some kind of grounding. Why did her head hurt so much...?

As she came to, Nicole suddenly became very aware of someone's arms wrapped around her. Her eyes widened, brain swimming with the vague notion that she'd been having an incredibly unnerving dream about her relationship with Richard. It'd been so real.

Smiling softly, Nicole reached down to push him away, but...his arms were cold and mechanical...?

With a small strained noise, Nicole rolled over and her eyes widened when she found Damien next to her, still asleep. He was smiling contentedly, an innocent cherub while he was lost in the vacuum of his mind. All Nicole could do was stare for a long moment, pupils continuously shrinking and getting

tinier. She barely knew this man, yet his actions, despite how few and planned they'd been, spoke volumes about how he went about doing things.

She couldn't bear to spend one more nanosecond so close to this satanic creature. Fear and panic gripped at her insides and wound them into a huge knot as she scrambled, arms and legs flailing, to escape his embrace. To escape the sheets, the bed.

She fell to the carpet, next to a nearby vent, gasping at her sudden lack of breath. Cold air blew out, making her realize that she was stark naked. For what felt like an eternity, all Nicole could do was look down at herself, the implications tumbling one after the other. Tears collected at the edges of her eyes and her lips wobbled. All her life, she'd condemned alcohol for what it could make people do, even criticized and felt no empathy for people when they partook in it and experienced the consequences. And now, just in the course of one single night, she'd broken both her credibility and all of her rules.

Her knees wobbled as she stood up. It felt like a substantial chunk had been taken away from her. Part of her heart was missing; the way her soul ached only chimed in remorselessly with the full body ache and sickness that rolled through her. Feebly, she reached out and lifted the bedsheets: what she saw only confirmed her suspicions...

On the inside, Nicole was screaming so loud that the universe could hear her. She was biting down on her lip, hard, as she collected various discarded clothing items. Each and every one she picked up only made her want to vomit that much more, but she forced herself to keep her cool regardless. The final straw laid with the last clothing item: her bra, which was wrapped around one of Damien's hands.

The breath deflated from her lungs as she relived her current horror one more time. She decided, with a ton of reluctance balancing on her head, to just leave the bra where it was.

Once she was completely dressed, she didn't run, but she didn't take a second look as she stalked across the tiny hotel room and closed the door behind her. One disgruntled thought followed another as she exited the hotel.

Time flew by at an unsoliticited pace, that the next thing Nicole knew, she was exiting a cab in front of her tiny rented house. She raced through the front doors, into the bathroom, peeled off her clothes and stumbled into the shower. Desperately, Nicole turned up the water to the highest setting that she could and waited, cringing, for the coming on-slot. The water hit like a brutal hailstorm; she felt every drop, pounding, stinging.

Howling in pain, she reached out and cranked up the heat. As she stood there, she could swear that she was being run over and submerged by lava. The next two minutes were a physical trial from hell: all Nicole was aware of was how much pain she was in and how loud she was screaming. It was endless, the worst shock she could experience. Soon enough, she found that she just couldn't take anymore. She didn't even turn off the water, just extricated herself from it with herculean effort.

She emerged and fell to the floor, her instincts getting her to brace herself on hands and knees. The impact caused a brief ache in her hands and knees, but evaporated into the stinging pain she was already experiencing. Breathing hard, Nicole crawled over to the toilet and finally, vomited. She spent- she didn't know how long- hunched over the bowl. So much of her seemed to come spilling out through her mouth: her regret, guilt, every overwhelming feeling and frustration she'd experienced not just since last night, but all of this nightmarish week...

Suddenly, she crumpled, folding in on herself on the floor. The only sound was the roar of the water in the background. Drained and exhausted, Nicole just lay there and closed her eyes, furrowing her brows. After a long moment, she forced herself to get back up, stopped the water before the tub could overflow and blew out a breath.

Might as well get all of the day's drama and shock value over in one burst. Nicole started focusing on her breath. _In through the nose, out through the mouth..._

She approached the cabinet and opened it, biting her lip again. Guilt bubbled to the forefront of her mind as she looked at the pregnancy test kit she'd planted there. Realization hit her: Maybe she'd known what was pushing Richard back the entire time. They'd only technically started dating for six months or so. Even if they'd known they'd get together eventually, it'd taken awhile for Richard to accept the idea of just _dating, _let alone anything else.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth..._

Nicole opened the kit with shaking fingers, then followed the instructions.

_In through the nose, out through the mouth..._

Looking at the results, all of the pain that Nicole had been feeling seemed to dance away. Her brain started floating, becoming fuzzy at the edges until she could barely think, barely concentrate. On an internal level, she knew that this should be the worst part, the one thing that scared her above and beyond anything else that could have happened.

...And yet, as Nicole stared at the positive result, she'd known that she'd find exactly this soon enough. Just...

_In through the nose, out through the mouth..._

It was barely a day since Nicole's life had pretty much changed forever. Brows furrowed and face contorted into a mix between worry and frustration, she could only stare at the tiny, one-floor pink clapboard house; Richard had lived here with his mom since the two of them had first moved to Elmore so many years ago.

She placed a hand on her stomach. This was the _last_ situation she wanted to come back here with. After today, Richard was probably never going to talk to her again. But...She sighed. She'd rather resolve the break between them and tie up loose ends before figuring out what to do next.

There was one positive, though, Nicole mused as she walked up to the front door with shaking knees. At least Richard's overbearing, overprotective mother wasn't here...

Just as Nicole was about to knock, Richard pulled open the door. He was shirtless and in a pair of boxer briefs covered with cartoon characters, eyes watering and accented by dark purple raccoon shadows. Just staring at him, Nicole could swear he was the physical embodiment of how she'd been feeling all week. Apparently, this _had_ been affecting him as much as it had her, if not more so.

The long, dramatic staring broke as Richard erupted with sobs, falling forward and enveloping Nicole in a giant embrace. "Oh, Nicole..." he cried. "I'm so, so sorry!"

Nicole started sobbing too, the tears rushing like a waterfall as she hugged him back. They both started screaming hysterical apologies as each other, clinging to the other like a life raft. After awhile, Richard let go and, more gently, took Nicole's wrist and pulled her into the house, shutting the door between the two of them. He looked guilty as he led her further inside the house.

The living room was small, the walls covered with faded floral patterned wall paper; Nicole vaguely remembered the wall being baby blue. Her eyes widened when she noticed the floor; it was littered with empty ice cream cartons. There were comic books tossed about everywhere, slightly crumpled and torn, and, to her utter horror, some had been ripped to tiny, tiny pieces.

Mouth slightly agape, Nicole stared at Richard. "Your comic books..."

Richard just stared at the floor. "Nicole," he admitted. "You're the only girl that's ever liked me for me. And well, you're the only girl I could love." He shrugged. "I know that's cheesy and probably not what you want to hear, but...that's the best way I can describe my feelings."

"That's exactly all I'd ever want to hear from you..." Nicole whispered, ears drawn back and staring guiltily at the floor.

"Nicole," Richard started again. "I've been thinking a lot. More than I like to. And I realized that when we have problems with each other, I should just talk to you about it. Not just go running home to Mom." Richard sniffed. "I know you could do a lot better than me. And I've taken it for granted that of all the perfect, physically fit, better suited guys out there...that you chose me. That you've stood up for me and been there every time I needed you. You're more than I..." He got choked up for a second, shuddering as he tried to hold back tears. "You're more than I could ever ask for...or even deserve in a woman!"

The entire time he spoke, Nicole felt like Cupid had nocked an arrow and shot it through her heart to join each and every one that had been embedded there since she'd been a little girl. Now, she looked up at Richard, smiling and crying, watching as diamond tears collected at the edges of the rotund rabbit man's eyes. All she could do was shake. She hadn't been expecting this; she wasn't even sure what she'd expected would happen. Throughout her entire life, she'd never expect Richard to be so mature and express himself like he was now.

All she knew was, she couldn't bear the thought of losing him forever because of what had happened last night. How could she let herself fall so far? For the very first time, Nicole was the one in the relationship that'd made a horrible mistake. But, unlike Richard's flubs which could usually be very easily resolved, her mistake was life-changing. One that needed immediate decision as to what she should do. The clock was ticking.

Nicole forced herself to look directly at Richard, knowing that her facial expression probably, already, told the entire story.

"Richard, if we're building up to getting back together...I..." Nicole shuddered again and took a deep, long breath. "There's something you need to know."

Rubbing her fingers together nervously, Nicole stepped closer towards Richard until there was only a foot in-between them. "I..." Looking into his eyes, his big and trusting eyes, Nicole just couldn't say it while looking directly at him. So, she looked down at the floor instead and clenched her fists. "I completely fell to pieces without you, Richard. I ended up resorting to...alcohol to make myself feel better."

"I ate a bunch of ice cream," Richard interjected gently. "That's the kid version of alcohol..."

"It's not that simple," Nicole cried, her voice breaking. "When I was drunk, I met somebody at the bar and..." She took a step back and looked up at Richard. "I'm pregnant with _another_ man's baby, Richard!"

Just like Nicole had expected, Richard was shellshocked, blinking like a nocturnal animal wandering out into the bright, searing sunlight of day. For a long beat, he was silent and still as stone. And Nicole just stared back at him guiltily, brows furrowed and teeth gritted. Her heart was beating so hard and felt so burdened, so strained, that Nicole wondered if the pressure would just kill her.

No, scratch that. Just the moment itself, how it was an anxious pendulum stuck in space, was slowly killing her. She wanted to cry, but restrained herself, feeling like it'd be inappropriate right now. Yet, she did anyway. As if she hadn't been falling to pieces enough, it started up yet again, her eyes a pair of leaking faucets.

Unexpected, Richard reached out and grabbed her, pulling her to him. He folded his arms around her more gently, more gingerly than before and she leaned into his chest, her eyes squeezed shut. Neither one said a thing; Nicole continued to hold on to Richard and he reached up and tenderly started stroking her head, in the spot between her ears.

Just from the way he held her, Nicole realized that she was encountering a different man. This was a side of Richard she'd never seen before, and it spoke volumes. So many volumes.

A small smile broke out on her face.

Nicole was approximately four months along now. Four months...

Brows furrowed, she looked down at her bulging belly, taking notice for the thousandth time that her inner belly button was now an outie. Such a benign and ridiculous detail to take inventory of, but ever since Richard started pointing it out every time he came around, she found herself just as obsessed.

Smiling softly, she turned her head and looked at Richard's slumbering form next to her. He was rolled up in the sheets and blankets, creating a makeshift cocoon for himself.

As if sensing her staring at him, Richard woke up and started smiling back. "Hey Nicole." He struggled with the sheets for a few moments, then he extended his large pink paw towards Nicole's pregnant belly; he patted it with a small, slightly childish smile on his face. "Hey, little baby girl or boy. I can't wait to find out which one you are!"

Smile growing, Nicole reached out and placed her own hand over Richard's paw. Looking up at him, she was surprised for the umpteenth time by the glowing, accepting smile stretched across his face. Somehow, even though he was fully aware that the baby wasn't his biologically, Richard was still falling in love with it just as much as Nicole was. In some ways, it almost seemed like he was more excited by the current situation than she was...

The two of them got up out of bed, got prepared for the day, and in no time, were walking briskly through the city streets towards the hospital.

Nicole squeezed Richard's hand, her other hand thumbing the inside of the pocket of the windbreaker she was wearing. On the way there, they passed a park and Nicole couldn't help noticing the children playing there. All of them were so happy, excited, and carefree. The sun was shining, bathing them in light and joy. Even more of a sign, a colorful and vibrant butterfly ascended from a nearby bush and fluttered close to them.

Richard chuckled lightheartedly as it fluttered, just a few millimeters from Nicole's face. She gasped and smiled, studying the delicate design on the wings: It was a Northern Brown Argus bearing fuzzy black wings fringed with white, orange spots along the edges. If Nicole remembered her high school science class correctly, the Argus was a very rare sight.

Her smile only grew as she watched it flutter and fly away, disappearing into the bright light of the oncoming day.

Today was just an ongoing kaleidoscope. Nicole was barely paying attention to anything, her mind shifting between waking up to Richard and the sight of the butterfly. It felt like both of those moments were incredibly symbolic, a visual reflection of her inner monologuing thoughts.

Soon enough, she was sitting with Richard in a hospital room, looking at him and smiling eagerly as they clasped hands, waiting. She found herself absentmindedly touching her stomach again, Richard's hand crawling around and latticing his big fingers through her own. In that moment, everything became so startlingly clear. It was a strange revelation, but one that Nicole found herself relishing and cherishing with every fiber of her being: Despite how this child had come to her, Richard was going to be its' _true_ father. This would be their first child together and, Nicole squeezed Richard's hand, this child would have the happiest life they could provide.

That was when the doctor entered the room, carrying a clipboard and wearing a smile. He handed Nicole and Richard a sonogram: it showed a faint outline of a tiny cylindrical shape, a tiny antenna protruding from what appeared to be the head. Nicole gasped in wonder as she lightly touched the transparency.

"It's a boy," the doctor announced.

As he said it, a single tear fell from Nicole's eye and hit the transparency. _Soon, I'll be able to truly welcome you to the world..._Nicole mused.


	2. Chapter 2: Daddy Default

2: Daddy Default

Damien would never forget the very first time he met Arpa:

His mother was holding a special event in honor of him officially taking ownership of the Blinking Lights Factory. Feeling especially generous and pleased with himself, Damien opened the event to everybody in town. Most of the city denizens, or plebians as Damien and his upscale family referred to anyone who wasn't rich, stayed away. A few upper middleclass families showed up, though; a few upstart socialites hoping to make a lasting impression on the highest level social class tier.

Damien had been spending the night rubbing elbows with socialites and suggesting merging deals to be discussed tomorrow. He was on his way to the punch table, arms folded behind his back and looking smug. Visions of that red leather arm chair in his father's office-

-stopped. His glass eyes fogged when he spotted Arpa. She was all by herself, looking kind of nervous as she twiddled her fingers. There was something sweet and innocent about the young Mechanical girl; she had such longing in her eyes, yet she wasn't quite sure where to go or what to do.

Unbidden, Damien's heart strings were plucked. For the longest time, he'd had a special adoration for shy violets. Those were the girls he pursued and chased after, and the ones he successfully won over had all been very clever, coy, or interesting in the most fascinating way.

Smiling, Damien approached her, took her hand in his and kissed it in that cheesy, old-school gentleman fashion. The gesture made her blush furiously. "Hello, I'm Damien."

"A-arpa," she squeaked, blushing and blinking rapidly.

She was so flustered, she didn't even notice that Damien hadn't let go of her hand yet.

"I'm sorry," she continued, eyes squeezed shut and face the same shade as a tomato. "I'm not acting cold and indifferent-"

"You're perfectly fine," Damien replied, chuckling softly.

"But!" Arpa protested, eyes wrenching open. "But..."

"This isn't a Lady Madame type of party," Damien went on in a calm, smooth voice. "Besides, it's only natural to be nervous in a setting like this."

"I'm not nervous!" Arpa chirped, glaring. "I'm just..." She looked down at the floor.

"Relax," Damien assuaged. "Relax. I'm sure you know how to achieve exactly the demeanor you're looking for. I won't judge. You've already left a good impression on _me_."

When he winked at her, Arpa's mouth turned into a small "O" and then she started smiling.

"You have a smile that lights up the room, little lady," Damien commented, smiling wide himself. "Will you keep me company for the rest of the party?"

Arpa stood at the front door of the Default mansion, just like she was every other night now. All Damien could do was watch, their child Gart playing with a pile of money near his ankle. There was no pity or remorse in her eyes as she met Damien's pleading look with a hard glare.

"I'll be back later on tonight," she said as she exited. The doors slamming behind her echoed, entering Damien's mind and adding to the silent, anguished screams from his soul. Every time he heard it, he imagined his heart cracking and tearing in his big chest.

Now, Gart looked up at his father with wide, rounded eyes. "Are you okay, Dad...?"

Damien returned Gart's look, watched as the young boy blinked, his eyes making a small click and whir sound. Close to tears, Damien knelt down and grabbed Gart, pulling the young lad into an embrace.

"No," he whispered. "I'm not."

"Why?" Gart asked, looking at the wall behind Damien.

"Your mom never wants to spend time with me anymore," Damien said in a softer whisper, hoping Gart didn't hear him. "It's as if she doesn't care about anything but herself."

"What about me?" Gart piped up.

"Don't be selfish like your mother," Damien replied, putting Gart back down. "Don't be selfish."

With that, he stood up and walked out of the room without a second glance. All Gart could do was watch, confused and appalled. He didn't know how to feel or what to do. The little Mechanical waited a minute before rolling out into the hall. He caught a glimpse of Damien wandering into another room and shutting the door behind him.

Curious, Gart slowly creeped towards the door and looked up, saw his own reflection in the brass door knob. Mom and Dad always hid behind doors, now.

They used to be so open with him; as Dad put it, they could all "be themselves" around each other. Mom was usually so cheerful and loving, her cheeks a pair of bright, shiny apples. And, they loved each other; they kissed, they hugged. They showered Gart in gifts, advice, and anecdotes. All Gart could do was stare at the door knob, lost in thought. Perhaps he didn't want to know what lay beyond that door.

"_Don't be selfish," _Dad would say. Then he'd wander off.

Sheepishly, Gart looked at the door and folded one hand over the other. Part of him felt like it wasn't the right thing to do, but Gart followed Dad's advice and turned away from the door. He went back into the living room, returning to the pile of money. Picking up a bill, Gart just stared at it, then nonchalantly dropped it again and watched it sail to the floor.

While Gart was left to his own devices, Damien had locked himself in his dark boudoir. Longingly, he stared at the heart shaped bed he was supposed to share with Arpa. Those cream colored sheets were unused; tightly folded and crisp at the corners. His heart was aching. Oh, how he longed for Arpa to come home at earlier times and crawl in bed next to him. Under the covers, their bodies fit so close together, like they were crossed fingers in a single glove.

Closing his eyes, he remembered pressing his palm against Arpa's back and feeling her heart beat, feeling her body vibrate. When she was frustrated, she shorted out worse than any other bot Damien had ever seen, but he was her remedy. All he had to do was tell her she could be herself and hold her close, then she'd relax and cuddle in closer.

The memories, how Damien knew he couldn't reclaim them, was enough to make him storm to the bar at the corner of the room. One of his vows to Arpa had been that he'd never drink. He reached in with both hands and grabbed as many bottles as he could manage. Blindly, he uncorked them and started downing bottle after bottle, indiscriminate of what each alcoholic beverage was.

He started screaming, tears racing down his cheeks. Gart flashed through his mind for a brief moment, but he was in so much misery, he was downing another bottle before anything else.

Next thing he knew, Damien was sprawled across the floor, numb and dizzy. Now came the buzz, an intense feeling that his father had raved about all through Damien's life, but was enough to convince him to stay away. Had that in a way been reverse psychology?

Damien realized: He was following in his father's footsteps. He'd been so determined to be a different man, a better man than his father, and he'd been so close. So close to ripping apart and tearing the seams of the "cold and indifferent" crap that his family had spouted at him all his life.

He whirled around on his single wheel, sucking on the opening of the bottle he currently held. The demented expression on his face crumpled as a full body ache swept through him. An entire, jolting moment passed: All of the gears and parts of his body had stopped. Gasping, Damien tried to stay up, the room around him nothing but an indiscernable blur.

The ticking sound of a clock started up, soft and steady. Damien had been swaying, but now, something had grabbed him by his upper forearms and had slowed his overall movement to a slow crawl. Back and forth, back and forth; very slow and precise movement.

A dark hooded figure appeared in front of Damien. Originally, the upper half of their face was covered by the hood, but when they pulled the hood back, their face was covered in shadow except for a pair of eerie yellow eyes. It had become difficult for Damien to think or perceive anything, but he could tell that this figure definitely wasn't an Organic or a Mechanical.

For a moment, Damien was almost convinced the figure was composed completely of shadows until a pale, peach colored hand came out of the shadows, palm up, towards Damien.

"_Damien Default,"_ the voice bellowed, solemn and deep.

The voice was cold and icy water, poured over Damien and bringing him to harsh, striking reality. He felt a few short crackles of electricity as he shook. It was undeniable exactly who this figure was...Of course, this legend was still frightening in his own way, but pop culture had made Damien skeptic. He was in-between scared and scrunitiny right now.

"It's not Christmas!" Damien sputtered stupidly, grasping at straws.

This comment made the figure completely emerge from the shadows and Damien almost had to hold back snickers. This kid...some alien-looking _teenage kid_ was...

"_You're_ the Grim Reaper?" Damien sputtered, despite himself.

"Like I haven't heard that one before," the kid sighed, sticking his hands in his pants pockets. "Well, for your information, there's a huge number of worlds and dimensions with souls living in them. I'm _a _grim reaper. There's more than one."

"Of course!" Damien conceded. "I guess we should get off of the topic of your appearance..." That garnered a glare from the kid. "So, am I at the end of my rope?"

"Yes," the kid said curtly, eyes closed. "Alcohol poisoning."

The severity of what had just happened hit Damien like a ton of bricks. Gart and Arpa flashed in his mind's eye. His money would support them financially, but-The image of Gart continued floating in Damien's mind like a holographic projection.

"I was instructed to spare you, though," the kid went on, his eyes opening to narrow slits.

"...why?" Damien asked softly around a huge lump in his throat.

"Let's just say that the god of death is a father himself," he replied with a small, sentimental smile. "And he empathizes with you. Greatly."

"I..." Damien couldn't say what he wanted to, tears collecting in his eyes.

"If it means anything," he added thoughtfully, smile growing. "_I'm_ his son."

Damien's eyes widened and he frowned. While he knew this nugget of information was supposed to be philosophical and meaningful to him in some way, the worst conclusions came to mind first. And he found himself splurting: "How can a grim reaper procreate...?"

"We're done here," the kid said then, irritated. "You just made me the laughing stock of the academy..."

"What?!"

The sound of the ticking clock faded, followed by the angry-looking reaper. For a few moments, Damien was surrounded by pitch black. Lying there, Damien looked around wearily, wondering if that experience had been fact or fiction. No matter which, he still saw that kid's angry face. If he hadn't asked such a stupid question, he wondered, perhaps he would have went on a full fledged Charles Dickens Christmas spirits adventure.

Taking a sharp breath, Damien sat up. Bottles clinked and his lungs seemed to deflate as he looked at the sheer number of them. Each and every one of them was empty. Damien felt fine; he was functioning normally now, but he started to feel sick as he collected the bottles and carried them back to the bar in the corner of the room.

Scowling, he stuffed all of them into a cardboard box. _Never again..._he vowed to himself.

Dusting himself off and pulling at his suit jacket, Damien wondered what to do now. Though, just as he was seriously contemplating his next move, he suddenly noticed a raised floorboard. A detail he never would have noticed before, considering he usually avoided the bar as often as possible.

Curiosity washed over him, joined by a sense of dread that wrapped around and tugged at his heart. Slowly, he pulled the floorboard back and what he found was enough to turn his dread into horror. What he was looking at was a scene he could only imagine finding in a horror movie before, but it was unnervingly real. He reached out and picked up Arpa's dismembered generated heart.

It beat faintly, slowly; the violet heart on the metal casing had been edited to look like there was a small crack. Sickened, Damien reached up and cupped the item in both hands. He closed his eyes and bitterly imagined when this heart had still been where it belonged.

So, _this_ was the cost of Arpa's unerring quest to be perfectly cold and indifferent?

Damien remembered falling head over heels for Arpa: As she warmed up to him, she became exactly the woman he'd never known he'd been looking for all his life. She was intelligent, clever, a grade A conversationalist on one side of the coin, but it was the traits she hid from the world that only Damien knew about that reeled him in: She was kind of timid, awkward, emotional, and full of life. But she only displayed this side of herself when they were alone.

On one of those few occassions when they got to be alone, he took brought Arpa to the back veranda of the Default mansion. The sky was a mix of red, pink, and purple with a bright golden sun nestled amongst a bank of mauve clouds. Arpa was a foot away from Damien, looking at him with wide eyes as she described one of the previous parties she'd recently been to. Nodding, Damien smiled and kept glancing every so often to catch the position of the sun in the sky overhead.

As the sun began its' descent, Damien reached out and put a finger to Arpa's lips, making a small "shh" sound. Suddenly quiet and impatient, Arpa shot him a look. Damien placed a finger under her chin and delicately shifted her face towards the direction of the sky.

The entire time Arpa watched the sunset, Damien watched her expression, how it melted like ice in spring to a small smile and then to wide-eyed, enthusiastic wonder. She turned to look back at Damien, wearing the same expression. Only now, the two of them were in the dark, enclosed by the curtains of night. Tenderly, Damien creeped closer towards her and pulled her towards him. He whispered something sappy in her ear before they started a kiss, something sweet and gentle. Slowly, Damien coaxed Arpa to go farther, placing his hand on her upper forearm, then running a gentle finger down her back.

She shivered, then wrapped her arms around him,sliding her own hands across his back and latticing her fingers together. Their next kiss was a bit more intense. Arpa wanted more; she used her tongue to get Damien to open his mouth. Passionate, Arpa led him through their first French kiss. When they pulled away from each other, all Damien could do was stare at her with wide, surprised eyes.

With a fiendish smile, Arpa whispered her next heart's desire in his ear. Slowly, Damien picked her up and carried her; she laughed like a school girl as he took her up to their bedroom. The wooden door closed behind the young, happy couple in Damien's mind and part of his mouth curved up into something between a smirk and a smile.

The memory was followed by more similar ones. Back then, it was like they couldn't get enough of each other; they shared breath when kissing each other and became a single entity when making love. She was his first.

That look she wore whenever they were twisted together: satisfied and triumphant. Every time, she led the way, being the dominant partner as they explored how far physical passion could go. And, they'd been doing it every night for three straight months. Arpa's appetite was relentless. But Damien wouldn't fight; he was becoming just as ferocious and ravenous.

Somewhere along the way, Arpa had become Mrs. Arpa Default and they were expecting a son. Their romps never stopped, though. No matter what Arpa or Damien had planned for the day, they still made time for each other. But that time was always physical. The more it happened, the further they got away from the sincere simplicity and bliss at the beginning.

Briefly, Damien returned to the very first time, the night with the sunset. He and Arpa were wrapped up in each other's arms, looking at the other, eyes blazing with excitement and wonder.

"_Can we go again, Damien?!"_ she gasped enthusiastically. _"I've never felt so good before!"_

It was a bright, sunshine filled day. Unfortunately, Damien had scheduled a meeting with the owner of the company The Blinking Lights Factory was about to buy out. He sat across a plastic picnic table from an aged Organic man. From a glance, the man looked quite impatient and way too formal, his shoulders rigid and his mouth a frown carved from stone. Eerily, this stranger vaguely reminded Damien of his father.

"Let's cut right to the chase," the man instructed. "What's your offer, Default?"

Just as he said this, Damien noticed Arpa carrying their son, barely a year old. Mother and son parked themselves on a tall, grassy gnoll on the left side of the Default mansion. Damien blushed and smiled as Arpa raised a hand and waved at him. All Damien could do was shrug in response.

"You sounded pretty ready over the phone," the man prompted, bringing Damien's attention back to him. "Don't waste my time. I can change my mind. There's three other businesses making offers."

Logic told Damien he should pay attention to this older man. Buying his company would be, potentially, the best business move on his resume, but Damien's heart tugged. So much more of him just wanted to be next to Arpa, his arms extended outwards towards his young son.

"Default!" the man harrumphed.

"Can we reschedule...?" Damien asked absentmindedly.

Just as he asked, Damien had stopped paying attention to business altogether. His full attention was directed on Arpa and Gart. Even from a far off distance, Damien's heart melted at the sight of Arpa, her copper exterior shining brightly in the sunlight and Gart, hugging his mother and smiling. Without another look, Damien tipped his chair over and took off at a sprint, rushing as fast as he could towards the gnoll.

The closer he got, he started extending his arms and reaching out. To his utter delight, Gart looked up and the boy's eyes lit up like a pair of blinking lights. Then, Gart pulled away from Arpa and rolled towards Damien. His first steps.

Laughing, Damien reached down and scooped Gart up. The two of them spun in wild circles, Gart laughing in unison with his father. When he stopped, Damien was slightly dizzy. His wife Arpa came to join her two boys, taking Gart and holding him in her arms. Then she approached Damien, looking up into his eyes. "What were you thinking?!" she asked, blushing and snickering.

"That you and Gart are the center of my universe," he replied without hesitation. "As cheesy as that sounds."

"What about the business deal...?" Arpa persisted.

"There will be others," Damien said confidently. "All of that will come soon enough."

"But...you've already missed so much work!" Arpa cried, looking at Damien like he was crazy. "You've barely spent two hours everyday at work since Gart was born."

"I...can't help myself!" Damien replied with shining eyes and a smile.

"Well, you have to meet appointments and schedules," Arpa chastised. "Your legacy wasn't built on only meeting the minimum requirements and deadlines. Damien, you've broken molds. Step it up!"

"Well, haven't you canceled any parties or events so you could spend more time with Gart?" Damien asked as his heart drifted to the bottom of his chest.

Again, Arpa shot him that same appalled look. "No!" she cried. "I have a social status to maintain. You got that business deal because of _my_ social schmoozing and connections!"

"Well...thank you," Damien said sheepishly. "But, what about Gart?"

"I've hired a nanny to watch him when I can't," Arpa replied as she pulled Gart close to her and nuzzled her cheek against his. Gart laughed and Damien just stared, his mouth a thin line and his demeanor criss-crossed with disbelief.

Here, he'd been so eager to get a taste of why today was so happy and beautiful. Instead, he sensed prickles of dread lining his stomach...

Damien looked at the calendar hanging above his desk; he'd circled today's date three different times in bright red marker. Worriedly, he stared at the clock sitting precariously on the edge of his mahogany desk. One hour until four, until he promised Gart that he'd be home. In time to celebrate the little boy's fourth birthday.

He sucked in a breath and forced himself to return to the large stack of paperwork. Systematically, he forced himself to breathe calmly, imagined his heart beating at a slower, less harried pace. But nothing worked. Clenching his fountain pen between thumb and index finger, Damien glared at his slanted, cursive handwriting.

His thoughts were interrupted by the loud and unsettling blare of the phone on his desk. Smiling like a loon, he dived for it and said brightly: "Hello?"

"Damien," came Arpa's voice. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No," he replied, starting to tap the desk. "Only an hour before I get off of work today. Why?"

"I had lunch with Mondre's wife today," Arpa announced. "She convinced her husband to make a very lucrative business deal with you today at 4."

"Arpa!" Damien protested, his fingers curling into a fist. "Gart's birthday is today..."

"If you're quick, you can wrap things up with Mondre in time to celebrate," Arpa replied. "I didn't clear things with you beforehand because it's a deal for close to a million-"

"Please, be home at 4 today," Damien begged, wrapping his hand around the phone.

"I'll try," Arpa agreed.

When he hung up the phone, Damien buried his face in his hands for a few seconds, muttering a long string of curses into his palms. Then he reluctantly picked up the pen and started back up with the paperwork. Soon enough, 4 came around. Despairingly, Damien stared at the clock face. Dread radiated through him, and dark feelings explored the depths of his stomach, making him nauseous.

Before Damien could get up and escape the office, an older Mechanical in a tweed suit entered the office. He smiled around a thick mustache and extended his large golden claw.

Mondre was a very talkative and longwinded man. A few times, Damien tried to bring up that today was his son's birthday and that he couldn't be out for long, but Mondre didn't even listen. Next thing he knew, Damien was dragged to a golf tournament, Mondre promising to sell his company if Damien managed to beat him.

By the time Mondre finally drove him home, Damien had been successful, but he was incredibly bitter and tired. As he walked through the front doors, Damien found exactly the site he'd feared:

Gart was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace, staring listlessly into the crackling red and orange flames. He was all alone, the room dark and foreboding. Slowly, Damien approached the little boy, extending his hand to touch his shoulder, but stopped.

A crayon drawing sat next to Gart: It was a picture of Gart by himself, looking sad; Arpa was in the left corner, talking to friends, and...Damien saw himself sitting on a huge pile of money with a maniacal grin on his face. Written in crude, red block letters: "What about me?"

"Gart...?" Damien whispered.

Slowly, Gart turned around and looked up at Damien. There were tear stains under his eyes, and it looked like Gart was about to cry again, but instead, he forced a small smile.

"Hi, Dad," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, Gart," Damien said imploringly. "I-"

"Business," Gart finished.

"Business," Damien repeated, frowning.

Sheepishly, Gart turned and looked up at Damien with wide, wide eyes. "Dad?"

"Happy birthday, Gart," he said lamely.

"Do you and Mom still...love me?" Gart asked, almost choking on the last part.

The words made Damien short circuit; he grimaced as electricity traveled up and down his back like a bunch of prickly, sparking spiders. Brows furrowed, he looked Gart directly in the eyes, watching the boy's pupils shrink with every second that he seemed to hesitate.

"Gart," Damien cried, grabbing his son by the shoulders. "I love you with every ounce of my heart and soul. I always will. Don't you ever forget that."

"...what about Mom?" Gart persisted, frowning.

"Arpa isn't here...?" he asked, voice barely audible.

"No," Gart replied, stone faced. "And you weren't here. Nobody was. I was alone."

Damien sat next to the roaring fireplace in the living room, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the arm of the winged chair he was sitting in. Back to the present, Damien was lost in his thought, wondering how he hadn't realized how drastically Arpa had transformed. This new woman was far from the Mechanical he was in love with. _She was a monster. _

He'd forced Gart to go to sleep. Guiltily, he imagined the confused little boy stuck in bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling. But what was about to happen was something Damien thought Gart should be spared from.

After a half hour of waiting, Damien's anger had grown into a terrifying beast, coalescing into one tangible entity, eager to be released. The side of his mouth quirked sadistically as the door started opening. In came Not-Arpa, smiling and looking too satisfied with her most recent outing.

"Hello, _wife_," Damien spat, wishing he could spit acid.

"Damien!" Arpa said brightly. "How were you and Gart this evening?"

"You should have been home. Here. With us," Damien growled, standing up. "This was one of the _only_ nights I could take off from work, Arpa."

"Damien," Arpa warned. "You don't want to take that tone with me...If you anger me, you'll end up in that arm chair tonight."

"You're hardly ever home enough for me to get to enjoy your presence anyway!" Damien blasted. "The arm chair would just be a change of scenery."

"What about your ever-increasing business hours?" Arpa countered in a low, solemn voice.

Her comment was a white-hot lightning bolt that pierced through Damien, searing him.

"Too long," he conceded, bowing his head. "But it won't fix...this."

"Quit speaking nonsense, Damien," Arpa hissed, eyes narrowed.

In reply, Damien reached into his pocket and pulled out Arpa's heart. He didn't turn to look at her when he heard her gasp loudly and start sputtering like a damaged car engine. Still refusing to look at her, he came closer, took her hands, and returned her heart. Gently, he cupped his own hands over hers.

"Why did you do it?" he asked solemnly.

Slowly, he turned to look at her, watched as her face scrunched up, contracted, then fell.

"To escape the guilt," she breathed. "The remorse. The second guessing." Her shoulders fell and she glared at Damien, lip curling back. "We were starting to choke each other, Damien. When we're together, all we want to do is let the world burn. We have obligations to meet, things to _do_."

"My biggest responsibility is to you and Gart," Damien cried.

"How does it benefit Gart to forsake everything your family built up?" Arpa demanded, angry as she folded her arms. "He's the next in line to inherit the Factory. He needs to learn how to be properly cold and indifferent, how to follow in Dad's footsteps so that he can be a smart-"

"Now, the truth comes out!" Damien howled, wringing his hands. "You're just like the rest of them!"

"What?" Arpa was genuinely confused.

"I don't want Gart to be like every other Default man," Damien spat, tears clouding his eyes. "Arpa, don't you understand why I love being with you and Gart over everyone else...?"

Arpa was silent, staring at him like he was crazy. That condescending stare was an exact duplicate of Damien's mother. So much so that his entire frame shook and vibrated violently.

"You guys let me be myself!" Damien sobbed. "You aren't watching me like a hawk and mercilessly picking at every single little wrong thing I do. My mother stifled my creativity so much, Arpa. I was choked like a boa constrictor. I don't even know how I was able to _build_ the blinking light..."

"Quit living in the past," Arpa replied, arms folded. "You have a role to uphold! Going against the grain now would leave us out of house and home."

Damien shook his head. "I won't let you turn Gart into another stereotypical Default man. It's too late for me, but-"

Arpa harrumphed, tapping her fingers on her arm. "I'm not the bad guy, Damien."

"Don't you dare-"

"_You_ made the choice to take over the Factory," Arpa chastised. "There's a list of rules and regulations that come with that role. It's not all about you. It's about keeping the Factory running smoothly." She narrowed her eyes. "We're one of the biggest employers in town, Damien. It's not just the Default family that's relying on you."

As she came up to him, Damien felt like he was getting shorter. Still angry, he gritted his teeth and came to terms with the fact that his current opponent was on par with him, unlike every other opponent he'd ever faced to get to his current position, including _his own siblings_.

"You can't let your emotions get the better of you," Arpa continued. "I'd think that of everyone in the world, you'd know exactly why things are done the way they are. Being cold and indifferent ensures that you _yourself_ are in control. When you're in control, you're virtually unstoppable in a dog eat dog world. That's what Mom always told me."

"Mom told me the same," Damien said coldly. "The same thing. Every damn day of my miserable life." He shook his head. "There's another way. A _better_ way."

"Show me this better way," Arpa countered. "Show me why it has you with your head in the clouds and giving in to immoral vices."

"At least I didn't rip my own heart out to stop feeling emotion!" Damien howled.

"Strawman arguments won't answer my question," Arpa chastised.

Damien sighed heavily and returned to his armchair, plopping down into it. Clucking like a hen, Arpa followed him and perched her hands on her hips. She'd always been a bit bigger in figure than other Mechanical women her age; birthing Gart had only increased this. Though, Damien had always loved that about her.

"What's your big plan, Damien?" she demanded, relentless.

"I don't have a real plan," Damien muttered. "I just know that I'm not going to raise Gart by the same rhetoric my parents did with me."

He took a deep breath, folded his hands, and inhaled.

"Arpa, I spent my childhood feeling inferior and like I was never good enough. I was the youngest of ten children; almost every one of my siblings more cutting edge and cutthroat than I was. None of them respected me or even acknowledged my existence most of the time. When they did, they just reminded me of our brother Elijah, who went insane and was banned from the family. They always told me that if I didn't act cold and indifferent, I'd be next," Damien lamented. "Mom and Dad weren't any better. They criticized every little thing I did. Mercilessly. They were a gigantic pack of vultures. The only thing that kept me going..."

He looked at her sideways, smiling sheepishly. "I met a certain girl in high school named Skye. She was originally the only one that ever supported me; she cheered me on and encouraged me no matter what. I remember being absolutely smitten with her and...I was kind of crushed when she met a guy named Lev. But, that ended up being a wonderful thing. Both she and Lev were my best friends and they showed me a world beyond the gruesome one I grew up with..."

His smile grew into a gigantic grin now. "They might even be the reason why I was able to build the blinking light and get to where I am now."

"What was the point of that story?" Arpa sniped impatiently.

"It's why I can't let Gart be a stereotype," Damien insisted. "I won't let him grow up surrounded by anything other than love and encouragement. Nobody's ever going to tear him down to the point that he's so oppressed and upset the future is bleak. He's going to be the most _creative_ Default man there ever was!"

As Damien prattled on, Arpa shook her head.

"My childhood was rotten, too," Arpa sighed. "You're the only reason I'm not at home with a frantic mother chewing her cud and telling me I'm not perfect because I didn't find the right suitor. All of my sisters married before I did. I was shy in school and had difficulty making friends..." She rolled her eyes. "My point is: ruminating about the past isn't going to fix it..."

She lightly touched Damien's shoulder. "The fact is, most Default men are subpar inventors," she said, and he could tell she was having difficulty saying it. "You get lucky once in your lifetime and build _one_ impressive invention. The point of stifling creativity and building up your demeanor is to hide this fact behind a tall, impenetrable barrier. You carved out a niche with _one_ product. Creativity means you'd be able to make another, better version. Not just once, but two, three, _numerous_ improvements."

"Gart has to be taught to be cold and indifferent to survive," Arpa said in a low, harsh whisper. "To deal with the disappointment and challenge that comes with the Default mantle."

After Arpa finished talking, she stood there and stared at him imploringly for a long time. The entire time, Damien stared back, silently brooding and contemplative. It felt like he could just continue this back and forth with her forever, never getting his point across, while she just continued to bring in reality and try to make him see reason. Yet, he couldn't get himself to agree or to budge. Arguing with Arpa felt like challenging his family in the largest arena that he could. If he won, if he could get Gart to be the man he didn't have the chance to be...

That future was worth whatever potential mental and emotional torment his relationship with Arpa might take after tonight.

"I'm going to show Gart the right way," Damien seethed. "To be creative, and an _optimist_."

Arpa sighed heavily. "Damien...you want to feed our son _lies_?"

"No." Damien blew out a long breath, smelling the leftover alcohol stench. "I want a divorce," he whispered, the words leaving his mouth before he could really think things through.

As Damien walked down the front walk, he looked back over his shoulder at the tall Default mansion. It was shaped more like a castle than a mansion, though. In the back of his mind, Damien remembered his father bragging about how much money he'd spent and how much of the blueprints he'd drawn out for this place himself. The man had always fancied himself a king, considering everything else a posession.

No wonder Damien's mother was so grumpy all the time, muttering curses and profanity in binary...

"_DADDY!" _a voice cut through Damien's thoughts. He looked up and, there, pitted in one of the turrets was Gart, waving his arms spastically. "DADDY! COME BACK SOON!"

There was such desperation and sadness in Gart's voice. Helplessly, Damien waved back at Gart, even when Arpa showed up, grabbing the little boy and carrying him out of site. She didn't even look out or anywhere in Damien's direction. All he found himself doing was continuing to stare at that turret, Gart's tiny, wriggling form emblazoned on his eyelids.

Sighing, Damien turned back around and went the rest of the way, holding his breath. There was the bright yellow taxi Arpa had promised. Little clouds of dark gray exhaust puffed from the back. When he reached the end of the walkway, he was sputtering and gasping, a fish out of water. The taxi driver gave Damien a heated look before rudely honking his horn.

"Sorry," Damien muttered as he awkwardly tried to fold his form into the back seat.

"Why aren't you taking a limo, Daddy Default?" the driver grumbled as the taxi coughed and started moving.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Damien replied curtly, miffed at how rude and nosy the driver came across. In his mind, he answered the question, though, his inner voice small, sad, and choked. _My wife demanded a trial separation from me the night after our biggest argument...She called up my brother Neil, the lawyer, the morning after. They made up a tightly sealed contract with terms where I had to stay away from the Default mansion and the Blinking Lights Factory for an entire month. Arpa coerced me into signing it, insisting that this would be the best thing for both of us..._

"Too good to talk to a _plebian_, aren't you?" the driver snarked.

"_That_ kind of behavior won't get you a tip," Damien vollied.

"It's justified," the driver returned. "I used to work at the Little Production Corp. Made a real wage and living there. Then, your fucking Blinking Lights Factory bought us out and most of us got canned. I've been having trouble finding real work since. All because of _your_ fucking monopoly!"

"I'm only the boss of the main factory," Damien sighed. "I did work out the details of the takeover, yes, but my sister takes care of hiring and firing for most subdivisions."

"Too good to own up to your own shit piles, huh, Daddy?" the driver scoffed.

Damien mused to himself:_ I'm really wishing I had alcohol right now...My sister's only going to make things worse. Of course that's who Neil would put in charge..._

"I'll bet you wish you had that dividing window right now, don't you?" the driver barked. "Well, tough shit. I'm going to force feed you the things you're ignoring while you're sitting on your fat ass in your penthouse-"

The driver continued ranting. Frowning, Damien stared out the window, watching the buildings pass, at the people walking by. When he was younger, he used to wish he was one of the passerby, that anybody's life would be more easily bearable than his own. Now, he felt twinges at that childhood desire, behind the inner monologue he gave himself.

A few times, he thought of Lev and Skye:

He remebered walking away from high school in those long dark robes, accompanied by Skye and Lev. Skye was a petite, but very tall, purple Organic girl with copper red hair and an eternal smile. Over the four years he'd known her, Skye had just become more and more beautiful and mature. Despite himself, Damien still pined for her. And Lev was the same sky blue midget that had a peculiar fascination with suspenders and a cheerful, approachable demeanor.

"Hey guys, let's hit up the Makin' Bacon to celebrate!" Lev suggested as he peeled off his robe and then tugged at his suspender straps.

"Sounds good, hon," Skye agreed, followed by Damien smacking Lev on the back and hooting: "About time you got a brain, Krummy!"

"Of course the Devil would say that," Lev laughed.

"So, am I buying?" Damien smirked.

"Duh, you're the rich kid," Lev went on. Just as Damien was about to make another snark, another group of high school grads waved and hollered at Lev to come join them. Lev smiled and looked over at Damien and Skye for approval. They both nodded their consent.

"Be right back," he said. "Don't you dare put a hand on my girl, Devil man!"

"I'm the tempting snake, though, remember?" Damien joked, smiling but feeling strangely stung inside.

As Lev ran off, Skye studied Damien with a skeptic frown before reaching out and lightly touching his arm. Shivers radiated through Damien and he stupidly wondered if she knew that he had a stash of secret love letters he'd written to her hidden under his bed.

"You've got bad vibes," Skye said worriedly.

"No, everything's fine," Damien replied automatically.

"I've known you long enough that you can't fool me that easily," Skye said, squeezing his arm gently. "Come on, Damien."

"My parents are going to give me control of the Factory," he said with a sheepish smile.

"That's great news!" Skye gushed, smiling. "Congratulations!"

Damien averted her gaze. "I...can't hang out with you and Lev anymore."

The words felt like he'd suspended an anvil above the poor girl's hair and cut the string. Tentatively, he looked back at her, soaking in the surprised, and absolutely crushed, expression. Tears were collecting in her eyes and she sputtered, making helpless gestures.

"Devil Man..." she cried imploringly, using Lev's nickname for him. It was ironic how well the name fit right now. "Why would you...How could you...?"

"I'm sorry," Damien whispered, looking away. "I'm sorry..."

Then he turned and took off running. That day, he'd cried more than any other day of his life. The tears just kept gushing like waterfalls, his intestines a gigantic knot of regret and woe.

Coming out of his memory, Damien took a hitched breath, feeling the tears returning by the slight prickles behind his eyes. In high school, it'd been easy to hang out with Lev and Skye. His family never kept close tabs on him, let alone acknowledge his existence most of the time. So, he could be out for hours, even days at a time and be under the radar.

Everything had changed with the blinking light. The one sole success of his ambitions to be an inventor had been the beginning of this ever-growing nightmare.

"Sick of me yet, Daddy?" the driver laughed.

"Please don't call me that," Damien sighed. He looked out the window; they were passing a sign that read: Welcome to Elmore. It was an obscure urban town, smaller than what Damien was used to. Perfect. Here, he could imagine himself sitting somewhere, looking out at the scenery and serenely collecting his thoughts and himself.

"Stop here," he instructed.

"I was getting sick of your ugly mug anyway, fuckface," the driver snarked as he pulled the taxi to the nearest curb. "That'll be-"

"I know this won't make up for what I've done," Damien said solemnly as he pulled a few hundred dollar bills and a business card out of his pocket. He slid them into the driver's hand and curled the man's fingers around the items. "Call that number. If anyone can find you a new, and even better job, it's Skye Krumholtz."

As Damien was about to walk away, the driver grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. Startled, Damien turned to face him one more time. "Get that chip offa your shoulder, Daddy Default."

With that, the driver gave a lopsided half-smile, letting go of Damien's sleeve and then driving away. Damien just stared, before turning away. The sun was bright, shining and blinding in his face, but as it cleared, Damien felt like he'd been doused with window cleaner. He was looking at a scene out of a storybook: a quiet, sleepy town with happy and busy people.

The sky was pale blue and cloudless, the grass vibrant green, and everything shrouded in an unspoken brand of bliss. Shrugging, Damien turned and started walking in a random direction, hands plunged in his pockets. Whistling "Mr. Blue Sky", a cheerful song that greatly contrasted with his sour candy attitude.


	3. Chapter 3: The Reaper's Flesh and Blood

3: The Reaper's Flesh and Blood

Damien was sitting by himself at the end of the school hallway, pawing through the pages of his notebook and studying the invention schematics and details he had drawn. The bell rang, reverberating off of the walls. Other kids were tromping by, talking loudly and laughing. Somebody was belting the lyrics to "Strawberry Letter 23" by the Brothers Johnson.

Despite himself, Damien started singing along, tapping his foot and hearing the sultry, calm bass in the back of his mind. Next thing he knew, he heard a female alto voice chiming in with him. He looked up, and to him, he was looking at the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Smiling, he dropped his notebook and jumped up. The two were looking each other right in the eyes as they hit every note, every beat, even obnoxiously trilling the guitar riffs of the song together.

When they finished, other students were looking at them like they were nuts. A few called them expletives under their breaths.

"Heya," said the girl, extending her hand to him. "I'm Skye."

"Damien," he replied with a shy smile.

He took her hand and gasped, shivering at the mere prospect of encountering a member of the opposite sex. Let alone getting to touch her hand. His reaction made her chuckle and she pumped his hand like a well handle; a strong, firm handshake.

"No need to be so skittish!" she laughed. "We were just making idiots of ourselves in a public place. I think that'd be enough to boost your confidence around a lady."

"Yeah," Damien agreed with a shaky laugh. "I'm not exactly a faunt of social graces."

"I can dig that. I like peeps who can chill and be groovy over tight-laced goobers."

"Goobers?"

"That's my word for up-tight kids, like Adrienne Default," Skye explained, shuddering. "Adrienne is _such_ a snob!"

"That's my older sister," Damien admitted sheepishly.

"Oh...no hard feelings!" Skye backpedaled, holding up her hands like a referee.

"No, I agree," Damien said, a smile breaking out on his face. "She's a _major_ goober. My entire family is _full_ of goobers!"

"Bummer..." Skye frowned, then smiled as a light went off in her head. "Well, you can't say that about your _entire_ family, Damien."

Damien looked at her skeptically. "What do you mean?"

"_You're_ not a goober!"

The echoes of a fond memory played through Damien's mind as he woke up. He was lying on his side on a flimsy queen-sized bed in a tiny, kind of dingy hotel room. Sunlight specked through slats in the nearby blinds, but too much of the room was still hidden in shadows. Wanting more light, Damien crawled out of bed and grabbed the cord, pulling it until the blinds had been rolled up all the way.

He looked out the window: Across the street was a tiny general store, the video rental store, and the local library. It was still too early in the morning to do anything, but later on, maybe, Damien could wander around town. He could rent some cheesy movies, check out some books...

Turning away from the window, Damien realized that this was the first time in a really long time that he had no pressing engagements. Literally nothing better to do except bide his time and wait. Part of him knew he should be more upset, flustered, and frustrated, but he just couldn't get himself rustled up. He was drained, drained and empty. Too much happening too fast.

Frowning, he walked back towards the bed and plopped down onto the mattress. Fan blades swayed overhead, a steady and rhythmic pattern. For awhile, he just stared, letting himself get carried away like driftwood out to sea. His mind started going blank and he smiled dreamily, welcoming a natural numbness over an artificial one.

Then he closed his eyes. Bright orange light seared the back of his eyelids, but he kept them closed regardless. The longer he stayed in this strange limbo, the more relaxed and tranquil he seemed to become. He focused on his breathing, wondering how he was able to have such short spurts of oxygen when normally, his entire body was racing. His heart usually had to pump and squeeze to handle the stress and frustration...

Bright white light engulfed everything now. But it wasn't piercing or blinding; it fell over everything in soft, carressing waves. A pair of gentle, tiny hands pushed the light aside, followed by a voluptuous and smiling Organic woman. Red hair cascaded around her face and down around her shoulders. Glowing, ethereal butterflies fluttered all around her, forming a strange, rainbow-pulsing and glittering gown.

"Skye!" he gasped, feeling his cheeks burn. It felt like he was sinning by being in her very presence.

"Damien," she said sadly. "Why didn't you ever admit that you loved me? You had so many chances!"

He frowned. "I've already made peace with this."

"No," she cried angrily, fists clenched. "You know what happened: You waited too long and lost to another man! You regretted never at least _admitting_ your feelings. You don't know what might have happened and it's too late now."

"I _found_ the love of my life," Damien countered.

"No, you found her _exact_ opposite," Skye argued. "You found a girl that reminded you of your mother in those few, tender moments where it seemed like she actually felt emotion other than bitterness or cold indifference."

Skye approached Damien, her hands on her hips. "Arpa is just like her mother-in-law. She's angry, set in tradition, and when given an inch, she'll take a mile. But, you just couldn't resist her shy nature. Those awkward twitches and overemotional reactions. You're in love with her quirks, the person that she _could_ have been rather than the person she really _is_."

Damien sighed angrily and turned away, but it was a futile attempt. Because, there was Skye, eyes narrowed and a knowing look on her face. Much to his chagrin, Skye climbed up onto him, wrapping her legs around his midsection and her arms around his neck. Their faces were so close now and Damien blushed at her hair tickling his cheek.

"Damien," she whispered. "_I_ was the one that got away."

"No," he growled.

"Yes, I was," she trilled. "I was the girl with the golden heart, morals, and dreams." She reached up and touched his cheek. "_We_ could have changed the Factory, Damien. I believed in your vision the entire time, right from the start. Would _Arpa_ believe in you the same way?"

Frustrated, Damien howled, squeezing his eyes shut. He got louder and louder in volume, drowning out Skye's voice and temptation. When he opened his eyes again, Damien was back in the hotel room, staring at the fan.

His entire body was covered in sweat and he was aroused in the worst possible way. Part of him wanted to close his eyes again and take fantasy Skye, rip off that dress, and scar the purity symbolism behind the color white. Heart pounding, vibrating violently, Damien grabbed the sheets and blankets, tearing them away and standing up.

Fumbling, he pulled on clothes and cursed to himself. Every time he blinked he saw Skye. Skye, Skye, Skye..._Why?!_

Damien felt like a teenage boy that had just experienced his first wet dream. Inside, he was so bothered, so riled up. He shouldn't be having thoughts like this; he was a _married_ man. And Skye Krumholtz was a woman that had married her high school sweetheart. Not only that, but he hadn't actually seen her, except in brief passing, since high school.

Yet, despite himself, he was inappropriately thrilled by the notion that he was able to be attracted to a woman other than Arpa. He smiled wickedly, pulling off his clothes again and climbing right back into bed. Nobody had to know about his fantasies. They were just thoughts, ideas, colorful bubbles drifting by on the breeze that he could pop anytime that he wanted to...

He closed his eyes again, transporting himself to a tropical beach. White sand, a perfect blue cloudless sky, and numerous waving palm trees greeted him. Grinning maniacally, he scanned the horizon for Skye; he started drooling at the notion of her wearing a coconut bra that barely covered her breasts and a grass skirt hanging low on her hips. The gown had been one thing, but he may as well go all out within the realm of his mind's eye.

Grin widening, he called out: "Skye!"

Instead of Skye, an entirely different person popped out of thin air: Damien's mother showed up, the elderly machine in a coconut bra and grass skirt. Both clung awkwardly to her rectangular prism form and her long, paper trail of hair was just that much longer, ending in rolling and curling paper bits near her wheels. As Damien stared at her awkwardly, she looked back at him, actually...smiling.

And then, she said something in binary. Something that made Damien frown and grit his teeth as one of his eyes twitched. She repeated it again, more sweetly this time, pink hearts appearing in her eyes. To Damien's horror, she kept saying it, and slowly, hideously, transforming into Arpa. Once the figure had completed the transformation, she rolled up to Damien and leaned in towards him, showing off a more intense and sultry set of bedroom eyes than her real life equivalent.

She reached up towards the coconut bra, tugging at the strings. "Anything you desire, Damien."

She winked and then Skye faded in to existence next to her, same get-up and expression. Both women started reaching back, smiling slyly. "Anything you desire." Then their heads transformed into his mother's.

Binary squawked in Damien's mind as his eyes flew back open and he frowned, feeling utterfly violated as he stared up at the fan blades. If he'd been sweating before, his entire body felt cold and clammy now; he felt a livewire energy pumping through his veins; his stomach churning and rolling. If he went back to sleep, who knew where his demented mind would go next?

He was practically running as he barreled into the bathroom and stood in the empty shower, grimacing at his reflection in the shower head.

Damien hated that people were staring at him as he par oozed through cheesy horror movies. It was the fact that he was dressed and manicured like he would be if he were still at the Default homestead. Perhaps, at some point during what he had dubbed "wife-imposed exile", he should stop at a cheap clothing store and get some casual wear. He knew it'd make him feel doofy, since he hadn't dressed in a T-shirt and jeans since high school, but if it'd stop the stares...so be it.

Quickly, he grabbed the closest two or three movies, then went up to the front counter. Surprisingly, the cashier didn't bat an eyelash; the kid was some kind of cloud elemental, hair tied back in a rat tail and he was wearing a tye dye shirt. He was silent as he catalouged which movies Damien had picked, his only words being the price of the rental.

"Are you...okay?" Damien asked as he handed over the money.

"Yeah, I'm on Cloud Nine," he said, laughing stupidly.

As Damien walked out, he rolled his eyes as he realized why the cashier hadn't had the same reaction as everybody else. Of course he wasn't just adhering to the hippie style, he was participating in the stereotypical hippie favorite as well.

Damien sighed heavily; it was a little after nine in the morning now. The world was stretching its' arms and officially waking up now. That meant more places were open and he could effectively wash the nasty taste of his most recent and greatly disturbing dreams from his head. Idling at the corner of the video rental place, he smiled at the nearby library.

Something about the tiny building appealed to him. He'd never exactly been the 'bookish' type, but he'd always liked the calmer, more peaceful atmosphere of the library. As a young child, the teachers had labeled him 'shy' or 'introverted' due to how much time he preferred to be alone and distracting himself. Even now, he hated those labels. Though, as he'd grown older, he sometimes wondered if 'introvert' properly described him; he usually felt pretty drained after huge group outings and school days. And he always had a higher level of energy when it'd been just him, Lev, and Skye or, more recently, him, Arpa, and Gart.

His hand was on the library door now; self-diagnosing as to whether or not he was an introvert would be a great way to whittle the day away and thoroughly distract himself. Perfect.

As he rolled into the library, he picked up almost instantly on the scent of lilacs, loving how his wheel seemed to sink into the carpeting. Birds twittered outside, their song mixing pleasantly with the soft, golden sunlight poring in through the nearby windows. Unbidden, his thoughts shifted to butterflies; strings of desire tugged at him, nostalgia tinged moments of when he'd wanted to run his fingers through Skye's hair...

Insides inexplicably turning to jelly, that was exactly when he realized someone was staring at him. The moment was magic: his eyes locked with someone else's. She was standing barely three feet away with a powerful, authoratative aura. In the back of his mind, Damien could easily see her being his boss and following her instructions to the letter. The slightly confused, but curious expression on her face reminded him, strangely enough, of Skye.

Despite himself, he was checking her out, making no move to hide that he was scanning her from head to paws. She was a young feline with pristinely pressed and combed blue fur, her frame petite and skinny. Her black sweater vest and jeans properly accentuated her form, not hugging her too tightly, but still flattering her. His visual examination was thorough. The nervous flick of the woman's tail alerted Damien that he'd stepped over an unseen line.

This woman obviously wasn't interested, but the fact that she hadn't backed away made Damien feel like he'd been challenged. Some part of his subconscious reminded him that he was nowhere near being a classic Casanova, but the giddy tingle that raced up and down his spine made him realize that the feelings from his morning venture weren't done. His heart raced and he could swear that his hormones were flashing like lightning now.

"Hello, miss," he said in a voice like smooth velvet. "I'm Damien Default."

"Nicole Perkins," the woman replied in a warm voice, but he noticed her left eye twitch slightly. "You looked like you needed help finding something?"

The rest of the conversation, Damien felt like he was a Martian, watching himself from a third person perspective. He saw himself getting more aggressive and confident in his approach to Nicole, while she became increasingly suspicious and antsy. This man wasn't him; it was the persona he always thought he'd wanted to be as a teenager. The guy he imagined himself as in his many daydreams involving Skye. Somehow, he was caught in-between wanting to watch this play out and shut it off and down before he tried to get too cozy with Nicole.

It was like he'd been frozen in place; Damien continued letting himself act obnoxious. Nicole led him outside now, the angry steam practically rising up and off of her. He felt the electric charge and hum in his circuits; how his adrenaline sang with excitement. It was undeniable: he was thoroughly enjoying "chasing" Nicole.

Much to his chagrin, these newfound feelings sparked up what had been a lost memory:

Damien, age 10, left to his own devices. Mom was at a party, along with all of Damien's sisters. All of his brothers were lost in their own respective activities. Damien had followed suit, staying in his room and poring over blueprints; he'd been studying the work of his great grandfather, Lenny Default. But, despite how fascinated he was by trying to backtrack Lenny's progress, he couldn't. He kept getting distracted by loud shouts, a holler every so often.

Irritated, Damien decided to move somewhere else. Maybe the other side of the mansion, in one of his sisters' rooms, he'd have the peace and quiet he wanted. He climbed down from the bed and left his bedroom, looking straight ahead and fervently ignoring the closed doors of his siblings' rooms. With each roll of his wheel, the sounds got louder. His insides were lined with dread when he reached the end of the hallway; the door to his father's room was slightly ajar.

Against his better judgement, Damien peered in:

There, the lanky form of his father was pressed tightly against the curvaceous, pear-shaped body of an unfamiliar female Mechanical. She was obviously much younger than him, her shiny gold exterior greatly contrasting with the beginnings of rust and gray on his. Yet, she was giggling, smiling brightly as he nibbled at her neck.

"Just what the doctor ordered!" he hollered drunkenly.

The woman just laughed in response, pulling away from his embrace. Damien's eyes widened: She was only in her underwear. A huge lump formed in his throat as he watched her start to reach towards her panties. Her fingers started to nudge at the lacy material. Ice gathered at the base of Damien's spine and seemed to radiate outwards. He watched a little bit longer than he should have.

Blushing furiously and embarrassed, Damien wrenched himself away and turned, racing down the hallway and as far away from his father's room as he could get.

The image of that female Mechanical naked had been tattoed on the back of his eyelids all throughout childhood...

"...rejection is a natural part of life," Damien heard Nicole say as he floated back from some hidden nether region of his brain. "One I'm willing to accept whether I'm giving or receiving it."

The entire time she said it, her eyes narrowed into a hard, steel glare. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown in his face, chilling his nerves and almost stopping his heart.

Almost like an afterthought, she propped open the door and impatiently gestured for him to enter. "Thank you," Damien muttered as he entered. He didn't turn back to look at her, but he felt unnerved by the door slamming behind him moments later. _Slamming doors..._

That had become far too symbolic for him lately. He exited the library and went directly across the street, back into his hotel, right back to his crummy room. Feebly, he remembered the rented movies he'd stuck in his pocket. Extracting them, he haphazardly pulled at the buttons on his jacket and let it crumple to the floor. Then he stuck a random video in and fell back on the bed.

Arms splayed and wheel spinning, Damien was once again lying in bed and staring at the ceiling fan. At some point, the movie started playing, but it was just background noise. Right now, Damien just didn't have the heart to sit up and watch.

Numbly, he felt like he should be feeling any other emotion than what he did right now, but he couldn't seem to help himself. The most overpowering feeling was...dejection. He was disappointed that he hadn't charmed Nicole...

Two entire days had passed. And Damien had done pretty much...nothing.

Midnight, the very beginning moment of Thursday morning, and Damien found himself bundled up in blankets and sheets in the darkness, shaking. Every so often a shadow danced on the wall and Damien's mind molded it into some sort of demonic creature. He shuddered, squeezing his eyelids shut and strangely relished in the comfort of the darkness behind his eyelids versus the darkness of the outside world. Apparently, Damien had regressed twenty some years in age. A coping mechanism for the grating, grueling waiting game and the molasses brand of stress.

If only he hadn't watched so many B horror movies back to back to back. Cheesy effects and overdramatic acting that made him laugh hysterically as a teenage boy was making him cringe and short circuit as a man quickly approaching his thirties.

Exhaling sharply, Damien ripped the blankets and sheets away. He forced himself to open his eyes and sighed at the inky darkness, sighed at his childish behavior. There were probably raccoon shadows under his eyes; he definitely hadn't been sleeping well.

Damien got up and padded to the bathroom, flicking on the light and looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. Of course, as he'd suspected, there were the shadows under his eyes. He closed his eyes and sighed yet again, clasping his hands and listening to the thunder of his heart in his hollow chest. When he opened his eyes again, his eyes widened, pupils shrinking: There, behind him, was Arpa. When she saw him, a sneer broke out on her face. The more upset Damien became, the more demented _her_ expression became.

Suddenly, she opened her front chest plate, revealing a bunch of broken wires and sparking circuitry. The look on her face was absolutely insane, distorted to the point of being unrecognizable. Damien put his fist in his mouth as he screamed, trying desparately to suppress the noise. On the verge of hyperventilating, he turned around slowly, expecting the worst. Yet, when he was completely turned, there was...nothing in the corner.

Paranoid, he turned a full 360, scanning the shower, the toilet, the sink. No sign of zombie Arpa and he started to grow calm, reassuring himself that he just needed to go back to bed and actually sleep. But, just as he finished his rotation, the room seemed to tilt at an alarming angle. Damien tripped, losing balance. He looked into the other room, but his heart sank as everything started to smear and melt, dripping into a real life version of _The Scream_.

Sharp intake of breath and Damien found himself in pitch blackness. While his mind was blaring irrational claptrap about Dracula brand creatures waiting to come and grab him, he felt a strong sense of familiarity. Like he'd been in this exact situation before.

Deja vu washed over him as an irritated teenage kid stepped out of the darkness. His hands plunged in his pockets, he regarded Damien quizically while Damien stared back at him, horrorstruck.

"Don't tell me I had a heart attack..." he murmured.

"No," the kid replied, before sighing heavily.

"I'm having some sort of cerebral event!" Damien cried, clapping a hand to his forehead. "You're just some phantom of my mind...Just go away...Please, please, please..." His voice was a low whisper. "I can't take this mental hell anymore."

"I didn't mean to alarm you," the kid said, facial expression softening.

"Just go away," Damien begged, face buried in his hands.

To his dismay, the kid didn't listen; instead, he reached out and lightly grabbed Damien's wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. Then he put his own hand on Damien's shoulder.

"Why are you here...?" Damien asked, deciding that going along with whatever this was would be easier than fighting it. At least it was an alien instead of Arpa. A cold hand squeezed Damien's heart;_ he preferred the presence of a being that claimed to be the reaper's flesh and blood over his own wife. _

"My father keeps tabs on people he grants special favors," the kid explained in a calm, even voice. "He asked me to take a week off from classes to keep an eye on you. I've noticed that you've had an unbelievably stressful time over the past week or so-"

"Reapers take classes?" Damien asked wearily. He'd been focusing on everything other than his own life and problems lately, so he found himself choosing to ask the most inane question that had burbled up in his mind over more pressing ones.

"Damien," the kid said in a warning tone.

"I don't know your name!" Damien gasped in surprise. "What is it?"

"Quit beating around the bush!" he groaned. Then he shook his head, frustrated. "Kid. It's Kid."

Before Damien could speak again, Kid cut him off: "I came here to give you a warning, Mr. Default. Stay away from alcohol."

Damien blinked, confused. "That's it?"

Kid narrowed his eyes, his eyebrows a pair of angry exclamation points. "Stay away from alcohol. If you repeat the same stunt you did the other night, you're _not_ getting another chance."

"That's...pretty much a given," Damien said without thinking.

Kid pulled away from the man, sticking his hands back in his pockets. "Just hope that you don't see me again until the day you reach your _natural_ deathbed," he said cryptically as he stepped back into the darkness and disappeared.

The darkness dissipitated, the flourescent lights of the bathroom ceiling bringing the world back to normal. Damien sat, staring hopelessly at the tile. Exhaustion overtook him and he collapsed to the floor, quickly tumbling back into darkness again, but this time, it was sleep.

Damien found himself looking up at a calm pale blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds. The scene was pastoral, kind of peaceful and serene; he heard soft, rhythmic lapping noises. _Water?_

Before he could figure out where he was or what was going on, Nicole Perkins was on top of him, eyelids at half-mast. She was crawling across his chest, getting closer and closer until their faces were only mere milimeters apart. "Damien," she whispered, sounding like she had a dry throat.

"Nicole," he replied, then shook. His voice grated like the edge of a razor blade. His throat...

"Da-mi-en," Nicole croaked, sputtering like a dead car engine with each syllable. "Da-mi-en." She just kept repeating his name, like a mantra. Helpless, he watched her lick her lips; her tongue was a literal scrap of rough sandpaper. As soon as he saw it, he couldn't look away. But as terrible as he felt for Nicole, the image only made him realize how thirsty _he_ was. His throat was wrapped up by a boa constrictor; the thirst was unbelievably intense.

Feebly, he reached out. His fingers were resting in water; the realization made his eyes widen. Earnestly, he cupped one of his hands and blindly tried to scoop some water. Then he slowly, carefully, brought it towards him...Instead, he found that he was clutching the neck of an olive green bottle. When he turned it over, he found a cream colored label; the character depicted there looked vaguely familiar. A pair of angry eyes looked up at him, reinforcing a warning Damien was given in what felt like another lifetime.

"Da-mi-en," Nicole said again. He looked at the bottle she now had clutched in her own hand. Shamelessly, Nicole tilted back and took a long swig. As she continued to drink, she slowly transformed into Damien's father.

"Hiya son," the older man laughed. Someone giggled and Damien watched as a mermaid crawled up and into his father's lap. It was Nicole again, only this time she had a fish tail, a seductive expression, and was wearing a pink shell bra. Damien's jaw started to drop as she reached up and started tugging at the strings-

Damien's eyes snapped open with a sudden, jarring jolt. Sunlight was pouring in through his window. He sat up, ramrod straight and blinking. Never before had he been so happy, so relieved to see the sun. His forehead was covered in sweat and he could smell his arm pits; that last dream hadn't been quite as horrible as the others, but for some reason, it'd had the most drastic effect on him. The words "I feel like shit" were on the very tip of his tongue.

Clambering out of bed, he stumbled over towards the window. Nudging the slats of the blinds apart with two fingers, he looked out at sleepy, idyllic Elmore. His storybook illustration prison.

Frowning, he looked across the street, ardently studying the library. Just his luck: Nicole Perkins was walking to the door. He couldn't distinguish much from this far away, but he was surprised by the way his heart seemed to jump a little faster. Flustered, he blushed and pulled away from the window, sticking his index finger in his mouth and chewing on it absentmindedly.

The thoughts that were flickering through his mind right now...They put such a devious grin on his face.

Late Saturday afternoon, a stinky and disheveled Damien bathed and dressed himself, then found himself buying expensive clothes without Arpa looking over his shoulder for the first time in his shambled marriage. He picked out colors that would make Arpa cringe: maroon, terracotta, just multiple and ridiculous shades of red. For some reason, she had an unorthodox aversion to the color; knowing that only made Damien feel that much more smug in his sudden, whimsical desperation to sail on the winds of impulse.

It was late evening when Damien returned to the hotel. He just couldn't stand another moment trapped in the tiny room right now. This realization hit him as he was slipping the little brass key into the door. Exhaling and heart rate picking up, he swallowed back stir craziness long enough to chuck his new purchases just on the other side of the door before slamming it shut. Then he turned and started power walking, rolling as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

Just as he reached the hotel lobby, he spotted Nicole across the street, leaving work. She was dressed differently than normal, though. From the few times Damien had seen her coming and going from the library, she was usually in long sleeved shirts and jeans. Tonight, she was wearing a low cut top and a skirt.

He was half tempted to wolf whistle, but he restrained, not wanting her to notice him. A group of friends was waiting for Nicole, dressed much more vibrantly and revealing, but Damien's eyes were glued to Nicole and Nicole alone.

Allowing himself a stupid grin, he exited the hotel moments after the group of women took off. For some reason, Damien felt like his heart had climbed out of his chest and was now stapled to Nicole's shirt sleeve. The feeling was exhilarating and impulsive, leading to Damien keeping his eye on and covertly following Nicole; he didn't just want to know where she was going, it was like he _needed_ to know.

Nicole and her friends eventually stopped by a small bar in town, two blocks away from the library. A giant neon sign of a cartoon mermaid had been placed above the marquis letters announcing the bar as: The Loveless Loon. The mermaid alone was enough to arrest Damien's attention, making his circuits shudder and spark to the point he wondered whether or not he'd short circuit. Chills ran down his spine and he could swear that somebody was watching him, that somebody's eyes were _boring_ into him.

Shocked, Damien gasped and looked back to where Nicole had been mere moments before, frightened that she'd discovered him hot on her tail. She'd gone inside by now, though.

Nervous, Damien cast a glimpse over his shoulder. Nobody was there either.

Taking a sharp breath, Damien steeled himself, crossed the street, and stepped into the bar. Yet, as soon as he opened the door, he was surrounded by darkness. He walked in, heart beat slowing. There was no time to absorb what was happening, but he already knew anyway.

"_Damien!"_ Kid snarled accusingly as he flashed into existence.

"You seem to be my mind's favorite delusion..." Damien sighed, sticking his hands in his own pockets. His newfound obnoxious attitude and posture mirrored and contrasted Kid's irritated face and his silent, radiating anger.

"You have me itching to bring in my weapons and harvest your soul right here. _Right now. _Consequences be damned," he said in a low, threatening voice.

"I haven't done anything, you insuffrable rugrat," Damien replied, glaring.

"I told you to stay away from alcohol," Kid cried, fists clenched. "You know what sort of effect it has on you, you fool! You can't handle it!"

"What would you do if I don't?" Damien challenged, eyes narrowing.

Kid shook his head and gritted his teeth as his cheeks reddened in anger. "My duty as a reaper is to protect the sanctity of life and death," he breathed. "My father sees something in you...I see something in you!" His eyes widened with the confession. "Something you do in your life, along your timeline, is going to greatly impact and change your world." He looked almost pleading as his shoulders lowered and he started to regain his composure. "Your dreams will come true, Damien. Just not the way you expected..."

Kid had Damien's full attention now; Damien was just frowning.

"You can't throw your life away now," Kid stated, as if it were fact. "You're in a rough patch, but you _can_ get through it."

Damien's frown increased and he sighed heavily. It amazed him that in his most dire moments, his only true support was from a hallucination. Trite hallmark-esque reassurance or not, the young reaper's eyes shimmered with resolve and determination; Kid believed in every word exiting his mouth.

"You transition from wanting to take my soul to wanting to protect it?" Damien jeered. "Pick a side and stick with it."

"I'm sorry," Kid sighed. "That wasn't very professional of me, but I assure you: It's from stress. I've been with you on every searing moment of your journey, Damien. I've seen and experienced fairly horrendous, despicable things myself, but seeing the things you have from the perspective of an older man..." He gritted his teeth. "My only consolation is knowing that your pain is worth it."

"What are you? Some sort of emotional sadist that enjoys seeing others _squirm_?" Damien barked.

"There's only so much I can tell you!" Kid cried, looking helpless. "I'm not here to torment you, Damien. I'm here to ask you to hold out a little longer. To wait. You already spent a lifetime waiting for the opportunity to make your dreams come true. Just a little longer..."

"Basically, 'patience is a virtue'?" Damien spat, spreading his arms. "Your dreams will come true if you simply wish hard enough?"

Kid just frowned, his eyes narrowing; his fingers twitched slightly.

"Kid," Damien bellowed in a decisive tone. "I think I've just _found_ the solution to getting through my rough patch and countless number of broken dreams. Something that will erase the countless nightmares I've been having lately, alleviate my stress, and, most importantly," he said, grinning then jabbing the boy in the chest. "Get rid of _you_."

Kid disappeared, his shocked face the last thing Damien saw. As the interior of The Lovless Loon smeared into existence, Damien felt a strange mix of victory and confusion. Kid, whatever he was exactly, had always seemed fairly cool and collected, but genuinely concerned despite being little more than a surreal familiar stranger. Could...there have been some sort of true significance to his constant appearences?

For a brief moment, Damien felt remorse tinged with regret. His mind played like the snapped strings of a violin: He was turning his back on the one being that had come chasing after him, trying to inject optimism and light where nobody else had. The feeling made him feel like a young child, despairingly clinging to the hopes that their imaginary friend, someone they considered their only true ally in the storm of reality, was real. That they'd stop being a figment of their mind and become a real person; a real person that could be hugged, that would squeeze a limp hand reassuringly.

The thought train stopped as Damien scowled. Kid was obviously a hallucination dredged up by the depths of his slowly deteriorating mind. He hated the pressure of the tears behind his eyes, the way he seemed to be ripping open his own chest and pulling out his heart then tearing it to bits...

Sometime during this most recent "episode", he'd developed an intense desire to drink again. So many consequences and strings attached, but all he could think about was the buzz. How wonderful it'd felt to be numb and lost, letting the world drift away. He couldn't find peace and calm within his soul by himself, so his rationale was that it wouldn't hurt to seek help. His only true opposition was phantoms, the exact things he wished to eliminate. So...

Smirking, he marched towards the bar and ordered a bottle of whiskey. Moments later, it slid down the bar and he caught it, wrapping his fingers tenderly around the base of the bottle. "Beautiful," he murmured. "Simply gorgeous."

With that, he brought the bottle to his lips and started drinking. Just as he'd been hoping, his thoughts became cloudy, strands of nonsense and babble as the amber liquid raced past his lips and swirled right down his throat. His circuits felt warm, humming with subdued pleasure. When he pulled the bottle away, he closed his eyes and saw a pleasant vision that filled his heart with gentle candlelight:

Him as a young boy being hugged by his mother, and her praising him, a string of genuine compliments in murmuring, tender binary.

When he opened his eyes again, he ordered another whiskey. After downing that, he was sufficiently drunk. Standing up was a challenge; everything around him a soft, haloed blur. He laughed stupidly and then started crying. Tears started falling and he collapsed onto the bar, his face hidden in his arms. A metaphorical anvil had fallen ontop of him, crushing him to the point that all of the air was leaking from his lungs. More yearning and daydream fantasies infiltrated his mind, making him look up at the ceiling and bark with laughter, sad and keening laughter.

The barkeep frowned and shook his head before emerging from the bar and lifting the burly chested Mechanical, guiding him to a nearby booth and gingerly dumping him there. For an unknown amount of time, Damien rested against the plush leather of the booth, staring with glassy eyes at the ceiling above. His mind went swimming, perhaps dragging strings of his soul and collective person into the dark abyss of unknown dimensions, searching in a desperate, harried pace to find Kid...Damien giggled at the possibility.

_Uncle Elijah! I've found an imaginary friend...Can I go play with you and King Invisible now?_

The inane prattling of his mind slowed and stopped at Simon Le Bon crooning _"...I'm on the hunt, I'm after you..." _over the jangle and pop of the instrumentals. The song grabbed his soul by the hand and tilted his head in just the right direction: Nicole Perkins was making her way onto the dance floor, looking just as confused and lost as he felt inside.

In a sudden moment of lucidity, Damien felt the power and meaning of the song's lyrics. He could empathize with the wolf as the song ended and another one began. By now, he'd honed in on Nicole, a sniper about to pull the trigger. Within minutes of pointless drunken babble, Nicole had her arms wrapped around him in a tender embrace. Damien cherished the moment, the memory of another woman blasting through his mind when he started kissing Nicole.

The moment was filled with so much electricity and volcano erupted heat that Damien instantly forgot everything else he'd been doing. All he knew was that tonight lust had overtaken him in the worst possible way.

_I feel like shit..._

Damien lay there and groaned, every inch of him aching. His stomach was roiling, flopping and rolling worse than ship in chaotic waters.

_Do I have to get up...? _

Moaning softly, Damien closed his eyes again. As he was trying to coax the lovely unconsciousness of sleep back, he was jolted and ripped back to reality by the lightning bolt ache of his stomach. He zipped out of bed into the bathroom, kneeling over the bowl and wretching at least two or three times. When he pulled away, the bathroom lights felt like searing suns. Groaning, he blinked rapidly, trying in earnest to regain his bearings.

He was gripped and squeezed by a headache by the time he could stand. Treading into the hotel room, he muttered and cursed at the fact that he was back here. It'd only been, just barely, a week, but to him, it'd been an eternity. Most of his pain had been from both his waking mind and his dreaming mind reminding him of his current predicament; and now, it'd gained an entirely new dimension with this new set of wracking, full body pain.

With a shuddering breath, he returned to the bed and sat down. He was too young to feel like an old man, but he did. Every joint and gear was creaking; he could imagine a few snapped wires and sparking circuit boards.

That was when Damien finally noticed the other side of the bed. The sheets were slightly crinkled; the covers pulled aside. But, what really got him, was that there was a bra draped across his pillow.

It was a simple, plain Jane sports bra. Memories came up and mewed softly in Damien's mind; he pursed his lips, gingerly reaching out and touching the strap of the bra.

"Oh Nicole..." he whispered, taking a shuddering, raking breath. "I'm sorry."

Snorting, Damien stood outside the doors of the Default mansion. He knew he was breaking the terms of the trial separation, but right now, he just didn't care. Being away from his family and his business had only been an obvious sign to him that he needed to actually sit down and talk to Arpa again. They could go through marriage counseling, figure out how to compromise. Hollow inside, Damien wasn't quite sure how he was going to explain that he'd cheated on her, but...

He gulped. Again, he was chastising himself for wasting so much time sitting around entertaining personal demons with his thumb stuck up his butt. Though now, what had happened, happened. He'd reach that bridge when he came to it.

Taking a deep breath, Damien reached out and pushed open the doors. When he entered, the mansion felt cold and empty. He went inside, arms raised in a nervous, awkward way.

"Gart?" he called out hopefully, looking around. "Gart...?"

All he got in response was an echo, bouncing off of the walls. Clearing his throat, Damien closed the door behind him and wandered further into the mansion. All he could hear was his wheel, squeaking. Everywhere he looked, his nerves mounted. A few times he could swear that a few crackles of electricity zipped and popped around his arms and wrists.

Absentmindedly, he ended up outside the door to...the bedroom he shared with Arpa. The door was closed; dread had grabbed Damien in a vise. He'd never experienced such intense bad vibes in his life. They only increased as he reached out and twisted the knob with a soft _click_.

There, he found the very nightmare that had been crawling in the back of his mind. The same nightmare that every kind of couple, no matter how close or intimate, always secretly feared.

Arpa was wrapped up in the arms of another man, an older Mechanical. It was no misunderstanding: the man's clothes were spread across the floor, Arpa's favorite pearls nestled in the fabric of the man's shirt. Damien didn't make a noise, just stared, his eyes locked on Arpa.

Her pupils were small, her mouth a little "O" of surprise. A million excuses and questions raced through Damien's mind. The onslaught of information was overwhelming, so much so that his entire body started shaking, vibrating violently. Crackles of electricity mixed with the sound of technical malfunction filled the air. Behind all the commotion, Damien thought he heard Arpa shriek.

He tried to focus on it, to tell her he was fine and then start screaming, but instead, only the sound of static mixed with heavily pouring rain spilled from his mouth. The sight of Arpa's worried face was the last thing Damien saw before he lost his eyesight. His consciousness started to trickle away, sliding down a drain with each passing moment.

"Damien..." he heard Arpa murmur, followed by a sob.

Surrounded by pitch black, Damien couldn't feel his physical body anymore. He screamed helplessly, piteously, trying to make out where he was, what he'd become. All he could discern was that he was light and airy, weighing about as much or less than a feather.

Arpa was still crying, calling his name. Desperate, Damien called back to her, trying to get back to his body, promising that as soon as he had feeling in just his fingers, he'd lunge at his estranged wife and pull her into as tight an embrace as he could manage. Yet, now, when he wanted to be close to somebody to the point that it was a burning, throbbing need, he was floating away. A piece of driftwood caught in the waves and being dragged farther and father out to sea.

He kept crying and screaming her name, refusing to stop. Scared of what would happen when and if he did. An eternity seemed to crawl by before, much to Damien's dismay, a hand was clapped over his mouth, silencing him.

"I warned you," Kid whispered, shaking his head solemnly. He slowly pulled his hand away from Damien's mouth and all Damien could do was look back at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"You had a serious system malfunction," Kid reported grimly, mouth drawn into a thin line.

"Am I...dead?" Damien asked, the last part a squeak.

Kid didn't respond. The darkness melted, slowly turning into a cacophony of blurred, subdued colors. As the scene unfolded, Damien realized that he was watching himself from an outside, third person perspective. His pupils shrank when he saw himself lying in a hospital bed, a bunch of equipment attached to him. A very brief relief came to him when he noticed his chest rising and falling; he was still breathing.

The relief stopped when he started taking in more details of the current scene. Arpa and Gart stood beside the bed, worried, and barely composed; there were tear stains under Gart's eyes. Despite himself, Damien reached out, arms extended and trying to get to Gart. If he could just collect the little boy up into his arms and hold him to his chest. The words "I love you" were stoppered in Damien's throat, stuck.

A blue Organic doctor approached Arpa and Gart, then. He looked unsettled, his eyebrows knitted and forming creases in his long forehead. "Is he okay?" Arpa cried, her voice strained and hoarse.

"Yes, and no," the doctor replied with a heavy sigh. "He's currently...comatose. His vital signs are fine and, he'll probably waken up shortly. The damage to his central processor wasn't enough to completely cripple him." He took a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut.

"Daddy!" Gart squeaked, tears threatening; Arpa squeezed his shoulder as she tried to maintain her own composure.

Letting out a long breath, the doctor opened his eyes again. "Though, during his malfunction, the amygdala in his brain was fried and cooked to the point that it can no longer properly process and manage itself. We had to remove it and rewire his brain; we tried to replace it, but...that kind of procedure is just beyond current medical science."

"I thought you said he'd be okay!" Arpa squawked.

"Yes," the doctor agreed, somber. "The gist of what I'm saying is: Damien can no longer properly process and monitor emotion. My theory is that, from now on, he's going to be a very cold and indifferent man-"

"No..." Damien whispered, shaking. "No...No..._NO!_"

Desperately, he turned and looked at Kid. He reached out and grabbed the edge of Kid's jacket, briefly staring, awestruck, at his translucent hands. Gasping and on the verge of outright sobbing, Damien tugged harder, balling the material into his fists.

"He's wrong!" Damien cried with a gasping shudder. "He's wrong! I'm not a cold and indifferent man! I'll _never_ be-I _refuse_ to be- a true Default!"

Kid turned and looked at him with such deep, slicing sympathy. Everything about the reaper's pose and demeanor only reinforced what Damien knew, but was hoping could be reversed.

"I'm sorry," Kid sighed, brows furrowing. "You're the electromagnetic representation of the missing amygdala. Until you get a replacement, or your physical body dies naturally, you're...stuck in a kind of purgatory."

Damien let go of Kid's jacket and crumpled, falling back and in on himself. So much of him didn't want to accept or give in to this fate, but the look on the reaper's face was cement proof that there was no out. If a supernatural being couldn't fix this, who could?

Helpless, Damien reached out and took Kid's hand, squeezing it. "Thank you for all you've done for me," he said in a low, sad, but genuine voice.

"It's my job," Kid replied, turning and looking at him with a small smile. "Damien, if it's any consolation...I promise to come check on you every so often during however long this takes..."

Giving in to depression now, Damien started crying, weeping waterfalls. He turned and pulled Kid into a hug, the kind of hug he wished he could give Gart. When Kid hugged him back, Damien made a small sound. For a moment, Kid sounded like he wanted to say something, but stopped, releasing a breath instead. Damien could only guess that Kid was trying to console the older man, but words were so inadequate right now.

Silently, Damien vowed that if he did get out of here, he'd go visit Crazy Uncle Elijah and King Invisible. No matter what Arpa or any of the other Defaults would say in protest or disgust.


	4. Chapter 4: Argus

4: Argus

Nicole screamed, her face flushed bright red and her eyes squeezed shut. One of the nurses, a young and flustered pickle, held one of Nicole's hands while Richard held the other. He squinted and grimaced when Nicole squeezed his hand, her fingers clenching almost tightly enough to break bone. All the while, the nurse kept repeating the phrases Be calm! and Breathe! , looking like she could use that exact advice herself. It's crowning! the doctor bellowed. Push, Mrs. Watterson! PUSH! If Nicole's screams had been loud, she was shrieking at a pitch that could break glass now. Richard bit down on his lip, eyebrows furrowed as he tried not to wrench his hand away from his wife's. A few tense moments passed, Nicole's screaming winding down into a series of heavy breaths. Nurse! the doctor called. On cue, the young woman released Nicole's hand, looking slightly relieved as she rushed to join the doctor. Nicole's head lulled against the pillow and she was panting. Nicole...? Richard gently prodded. Where is he? Nicole asked, sweat beading on her forehead. You'll get to see him in a moment, Richard assured her, gently pulling his hand out of hers with a sheepish smile. I'm really proud of you, honey. By now, Nicole sighed contentedly as the endorphine dump started. Gently, she rolled over, beaming brightly as Richard leaned in towards her. Reaching up with his non-cramped left hand, he stroked Nicole's forehead, brushing away sweat. Thank you for sticking with me through this...crazy journey, Nicole sighed. Of course, Richard affirmed, smiling back at her. This is our first child after all. The words made Nicole's smile grow that much bigger, her eyes shining like stars. Just as she was about to say something, the nurse appeared carrying a terrycloth wrapped bundle. There was a slightly confused look on her face as she handed Nicole the baby. Baby Mechanicals were a little different from normal babies: they didn't make any noise when they were first born. It was usually a matter of waiting for the kidlet to boot up their operating system for the very first time. Both Nicole and Richard shared a surprised and happy gasp when they first laid eyes on their newborn son: he was slightly cylinder shaped, but tapering at the top. His copper plating shined slightly under the bright lights and there was a tiny, cherubic smile on his face. So much about his physical appearance eerily reminded Nicole of Damien, but she made herself put those thoughts of her mind. Richard gathered Nicole into a gentle hug, ensconscing both Nicole and the little boy in his giant arms. When do I get to hold him?! Richard asked eagerly, smiling. I gave birth to him so my turn lasts as long as I want! she replied coyly, eyes narrowed. Richard groaned, and Nicole smiled, giggling as she gently extended the baby towards Richard. He gasped and, with gentleness Nicole would never expect in the childish and bumbling Richard, took the baby and cradled him in his arms. Both of them just couldn't stop staring at the baby, enjoying every nanosecond he continued to exist. Their joy only blossomed that much more when he opened his eyes for the very first time. He looked around curiously, mouth a small O . When he saw Richard, his pupils widened and he grinned, waving his tiny claws and wriggling. He likes youuu! Nicole squealed, barely able to contain her excitement. Richard laughed and handed him back to Nicole. Let's name him Super Robot! Richard suggested as she wrapped her arms around the baby. He'll grow up to be a powerful, indestructible super robot! With laser vision and- No, Nicole said flatly. Red Tornado? Richard shrugged. He's a well known and respected robot based superhero. Richard, Nicole groaned. He'd get teased by other kids if he had a name like that! But superheroes are cool! Richard protested. Richard. Okay... He sighed, his long ears dipping in disappointment. Though, they perked right up again a moment later as his expression revealed the proverbial light bulb going off in his head. How about...Captain Crunch! I'm not naming him after your favorite cereal mascot, Nicole sighed. We can name him after your favorite cereal mascot, Richard tried to placate. This time, Nicole just narrowed her eyes and made an irritated sound in response. Richard was determined, though; he started prattling on about other potential names, touching on his favorite toy brands and companies as a kid. Frowning, Nicole just sat there and waited silently, impatiently. She looked down at the calm, smiling little baby. Looking into those wide, and seemingly expectant eyes, her heart grew wings and soared. She suddenly remembered the day with the sonogram, when she'd first discovered the little Mechanical's gender. Her eyes lit up as her own ears perked. Richard! she cut him off. What do you think of the name 'Argus'? Argus? He said the name like it was a new food he was testing. Argus, Argus, Argus. He smacked his lips, stroked his chin with his thumb and index finger. An entire minute passed, Nicole watching him with an antsy expression on her face. I like it! Richard declared. It sounds like something I'd name a pet rock if I got creative enough! At Nicole's inquisitive look, Richard pushed his fingers together and smiled awkwardly. You're probably going to be the one that names all our kids, honey...

Rain pounded against the window; bleary eyed, Nicole looked out at the gathering gray and black storm clouds. Next door, the neighbors had their window open and a pair of pink curtains swooped up and outwards, dancing in the breeze. She watched the curtains for a few seconds, imagining herself flopping and twisting crazily about in the same way. Sighing, Nicole returned to the desk top full of bills. Electric bill, water bill, something...Furrowing her brows, she dropped her pen and placed her fingers on one of the papers, shuffling it around with the others. Her frown deepened when her elbow bumped into her check book; there were only two checks left. Nicole! Richard yelled. NICOLE! Much to her chagrin, he kept calling her name, the urgency in his voice growing each time. Suppressing a groan, she stood up from the chair she'd been sitting in for the past two hours. Despite how nice it felt to be able to stretch her legs, she dreaded what would happen when she reached Richard. An event that would keep her from finally finishing paying the bills, no doubt. She found the portly rabbit in the living room, Argus in one arm and the newspaper in his free hand. Argus had been, surprisingly, a fairly quiet and well-behaved baby for the month or so he'd been living in the Watterson home. Sunshine seemed to crawl into Nicole's heart and instantly lighten her mood when Argus looked up at her with curious eyes and his ever-present smile. Dirty diaper? Nicole asked, turning her attention to Richard. No, Richard replied, a churlish smile on his face. I'm not in the mood to play guessing games... Nicole harrumphed, folding her arms for emphasis. I found a job ad in the newspaper! Richard said, smiling. And it's something that I think I could do! Despite herself, Nicole frowned, knowing she looked like a skeptic scientist suspecting somebody was an alien. It says in the description: 'No previous experience needed!' Richard persisted. I know you're trying to help, Nicole sighed. But...We agreed on you being the stay-at-home dad for a reason, Richard. Argus squealed and babbled incoherently, as if adding to Nicole's argument. Nicole! Richard complained. I heard you begging for more time to pay bills over the phone. That you just needed one more week. Nicole's eyes shrank. You heard that...? Yes, Richard said with a nod, his tone defiant. And, as much as I don't want to do it, I'm getting a job. He held up Argus. For our son. Richard! Nicole spread her arms. You know that- He pulled out the newspaper and held it in Nicole's face. Richard had circled a particular ad in red, drawing Nicole's eyes to it immediately. Lips pursed, she read: The Blinking Lights Factory recently gained a new addition. Looking for employees to watch and distinguish functioning and malfunctioning blinking lights as they appear on a working conveyor belt. No previous experience or credentials needed.  
When she finished, she pushed the newspaper out of her face only to be met by a determined glare from Richard. Sighing, she closed her eyes and shook her head. Alright, Richard, she conceded. We really do need the money. Richard cheered, followed by the sounds of happy babbles and coos from Argus. Nicole opened her eyes again, pinching her forehead with her thumb and index finger. You'll have to take an evening shift, though. I'll rearrange my own schedule at the library. She started to massage her forehead as she held up a warning finger. Know that this is a trial period, too. If you can't handle this, you have to quit. Before he could say anything else, Nicole lowered her hand and shook her head again. I appreciate everything you've been doing, Richard, she said in a softer voice, crawling onto the couch to sit next to him. Trust me. It's great knowing you're here to help Aunt Winona when she comes over to keep an eye on Argus. Nicole, Richard but in. I'm not going to quit. His comment caused Nicole to make a small noise. Though, despite her best efforts, she couldn't keep it in. Richard, she said in a low, warbling whisper. I know you. You know you. You balk at the sight of any kind of work unless it's a very. Simple. Task. She sighed again. I'm not trying to be mean, alright? I'm being honest. I'm willing to give you a chance, but you have to meet me halfway, okay? Richard's ears drooped and it looked like he was about to cry. Nicole furrowed her brow, a headache warning. Worriedly, she shot a gaze at Argus; the baby seemed content, lost in his own world. Taking a deep breath, she leaned in towards Richard and took his face in both hands, touching his forehead to hers. Richard, she pressed in a calm, even tone. He sniffled. Richard, she whispered. We need to be a team. She touched his cheek. You've already stepped out of your comfort zone and I'm trying to be accomodating. You don't need to overexert yourself. We're both stressed, but we've found a system that works. She closed her eyes. I honestly like knowing that you're here with Argus when I'm gone. As much as I love and appreciate Aunt Winona coming in to do things like feed him and change his diaper, you're the one that truly puts a smile on his face. Smiling, she opened her eyes again. You're warm, loving, and accepting. I think you're the only reason Argus seems so calm. Every time he starts to stir, even the slightest, he calms down as soon as you show up. Richard smiled, brows furrowed. I'll work long enough to help us pay the bills...Whatever those are. Secretly, Nicole wished that he'd just drop it altogether. Instead, she pulled back a little, pecking him on the cheek before moving to get back up. Richard grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back; she fell backwards, bouncing lightly on the couch cushion. Gently, Richard nudged Argus into his right arm as he slid his left around Nicole's small shoulders. Her eyes started drooping and she made a small noise when she realized how tired and stressed she truly was. With that, Richard pulled her closer until she was leaning against him; her head drooped onto his shoulder. This close to him, she felt warm; a great contrast to the cold and gloomy weather outside. Gently, he started rubbing her back and Nicole closed her eyes, pulled her legs in closer, and wrapped her tail around herself. Then she started drifting off to sleep, making soft purring noises.

Richard sat in the small, slightly cramped waiting room of The Blinking Lights Factory. Two long benches ran the length of either wall on both sides of the room, both filled with a large number of people. There were so many, Richard felt squished and uncomfortable, wondering how he was even able to breathe, let alone move. He was impatient and anxious, forcing himself to focus on the comic he'd brought along. The task was difficult, though, since his large paws were quickly getting slimy and slick. Exhaling, he put the comic in his lap and reached up to tug at his tie, wishing he could just take the darn thing off. Just as he was looseing it, the thick mahogany door at the end of the waiting room flew open. An octopus woman walked out, misty eyed and frowning; she was followed by the bossman himself. For the most part, Richard hadn't really bothered to look up, just absentmindedly continuing to paw through his comic as he waited in the seemingly endless sea of hopefuls. Yet now, Richard couldn't resist turning to look: The man was huge, a towering seven-foot, box-chested robot with a brightly gleaming and polished brass chassis. He looked intimidating, from the stern sneer of his lip, to the cold indifference in his eyes; he even wore darker colors, charcoal and gray, as if he were dressed for a funeral rather than running a business. The longer he looked, the more anxious and riled up Richard became. His heart zoomed into his throat when the bossman realized he'd been staring at him. With a cat-cornering-a-mouse type of look, he pointed at Richard and announced: You're next. The words were delivered like a death sentence. People shot Richard the stink eye as he stood up and followed the bossman's large and imposing form. Vaguely, Richard felt like a prisoner on death row, an unseen chain clamped around his neck and wrists. As the bossman rolled forward, Richard stumbled involuntarily, as if he'd been pulled. The dreadful metaphor Richard's mind was comparing all of this to only worsened when they reached the office. As the door closed behind them, Richard imagined a cold, metal cell door swinging shut. When he opened his eyes again, he stared at the intricately carved and decorated desk in front of him, the front and sides featuring front view and side profiles of the boss's face. Behind the desk was a winged back chair made of gold with dark red velvet cushioning. A nameplate on the corner of the desk read: Damien Default in block letters. That name...  
As Damien seated himself, he smirked in a very smug and self-satisfied way, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. Suddenly, a red and yellow fire sparked up in the fireplace behind Damien's chair, covering him in shadow and only adding that much more atmosphere to his already unnerving aura. What's your name? Damien asked, smooth as velvet. A huge lump formed in Richard's throat. This man...this was Argus' biological father! Everything about him matched up with how Richard had imagined him. In his fantasies, he was a valiant knight that brutally gored Damien through the chest and made the evil villain beg piteously for mercy. Now, every ounce of courage Richard had always wanted in a moment like this seemed to have drained away from him. No need to be nervous, Damien urged, his smile and tone deceptively demure. Richard Watterson, Richard spat, clenching his fists. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Watterson, Damien went on conversationally. I'm Bricklin Default. But, your name plate- I legally changed my name, Bricklin cut in, narrowing his eyes. Bricklin better suits my chosen demeanor, no? His mouth quirked up slightly on one side. Damien sounds cooler than Bricklin! Richard sputtered stupidly. Angrily, Bricklin slammed both hands palms down on the desk top and leaned forward. When you start working for me, I insist you call me Mr. Default. So, this conversation is very moot, no? Richard clamped his mouth shut, feeling like a helpless butterfly being pinned to a corkboard. Bricklin's eyes were a pair of hot, flaming coals as he glared at Richard. The unsettling silence and Bricklin's stare lasted so long, Richard couldn't figure out just how furious Bricklin was. Regardless, Richard's insides were knotting and convulsing. When Richard couldn't take it anymore, he squeaked; Bricklin's anger melted into something else as his lips peeled back in a satisfied smirk. You're mean! Richard declared, the pressure becoming too much to contain. I'll never forgive you! What are you talking about, Richard? Bricklin chuckled, faking exasperation. You know what! Richard sneered, standing up and approaching the desk. I'd beat you up if I actually had muscles! Bricklin stared up at him coolly, folding his hands. This is the kind of reaction I get for telling you what I prefer to be called? Don't play dumb! Richard cried, slamming his fists on the desk. You know what you did to Nicole. Bricklin's smirk grew. Yet, despite her getting slighted, you come back to me seeking employment still? That single comment was enough to defuse Richard's bravado. Eyebrows puckering and face lowering, Richard fell back into the chair. He reeled his hands into his lap, playing with his fingers as he realized what sort of cost his impulsive reaction would elicit. Don't look so glum, my boy, Bricklin said in the deceptive tone of a kindly father figure. Despite himself, Richard tentatively looked back up at the man. I like your spirit. Bricklin started tapping his fingers contemplatively. You're hired. Really? Richard couldn't mask his utter confusion and surprise. Now get out of my office, you fat tub of lard, Bricklin jeered, grinning. As Richard shuffled out of Bricklin's office, he wasn't quite sure how to feel. A heavy weight seemed pressed on top of him all the way out of The Blinking Lights Factory, from the curious eyes that followed him to his tumbling emotions. Part of him wanted to run, desperate to escape, but instead, he ambled along at a slow, measured pace. Outside was calm, the exterior of the factory ominous and quiet, untold secrets tucked away; Bricklin being the holder of one of the keys to hell...Richard gulped; he hated that his imagination could take him to the worst conclusions at the worst times. The imagery brought his feet to life. Richard rushed towards Nicole, who was sitting bored and distant in their rusty blue van at the curb. She raised an eyebrow as Richard clumsily clambered in and slammed the door shut behind him. Are you okay, honey? she asked worriedly as he sat there, panting heavily. Frowning, Richard looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She had raccoon shadows under her eyes and lately, she looked ten years older than she truly was. On a deep, internal level he knew he should tell her about Bricklin, how the prospect of working for him gave him intense bad vibes. But the words stayed glued to his mind. There was no way he could bear giving Nicole any more stress. Yeah..., Richard croaked, despite feeling like a lead block was lodged in his mouth. You don't look okay. Nicole reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. It was my first real job interview, Richard fudged. That is pretty stressful, Nicole conceded, her eyes showing she knew there was more. How did things go? I got the job, Richard said, starting to play with his fingers and the words sounding foreign to him. Of course Nicole looked slightly taken aback and surprised. Her reaction hurt Richard, but he was so overwhelmed by his recent encounter with Brickin that it didn't phase him as much as it would have otherwise. As if realizing what she'd just done,she squeezed his shoulder, then kissed him on the cheek. Congratulations! Nicole said with a small, sheepish smile. I start tomorrow, he added. Nicole sighed heavily and turned towards him. Talk to me, Richard, she groaned. I am. No, you're hiding something, she insisted, a slight edge to her voice. What is it? My new boss scares me, Richard replied in a rush. He smiled a lot. In a really creepy way. His office was dark and he...reminded me a lot of Dr. No from the James Bond movies. His reply, despite being truthful, only made Nicole break out in a wide smile and try to stifle laughter. Taking a deep breath and clearing her throat to regain her composure, Nicole turned towards Richard as she unbuckled her seat belt. Then she hugged him gently and kissed his forehead, nuzzling her cheek against his. I know employers are intimidating, Nicole assuaged. But after training, you probably won't even be seeing much of him on the job anyway. Just do what you're assigned to do, be respectful, and you'll do fine. I don't know... Richard murmured, the vision of Bricklin's evil smirk plastered to his mind's eye. You just got past the hardest part! Nicole encouraged, tapping his nose. Take things one day at a time. Face challenges as they come. Thank you, honey, Richard said quietly, staring guiltily at his feet. Nicole started to drive away and as she did, Richard found himself looking out of the window at the looming and imposing Blinking Lights Factory. A huge plume of smoke danced up and out of a single smoke stack; he could swear he saw Bricklin's face buried in the swirl of black and gray.

Richard leaned back on the couch, cradling Argus in his arms as they watched some random education video geared towards little kids. Usually, Richard acted stupid and mocked the blatant overacting and reactions of the actors for Argus' amusement, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it today. Luckily, Argus was okay with this; he was quietly engaged in watching the program play out. Over his shoulder, Richard noticed Winona in the kitchen, playing cards with herself. Winona was an older orange tomcat; she was spritely for her age, but the poor woman lived alone and had trouble finding things to do. Hence why she'd leaped so readily at the prospect of helping her niece raise her new child. Richard didn't really have anything in common with Winona. They were neutral towards each other at best; the most Winona had ever said to Richard were either praise of him being there for Nicole or quips-Winona claimed were in jest -about him being a lazy sack of crap. Just as he was thinking about her, Winona randomly tossed the cards across the table and exited the kitchen. As she approached, she studied him with narrowed eyes, her crow's feet showing. Hey, Rucksack. What drivel are you showing Junior today? Something about the alphabet, Richard said with a shrug. I wonder if it's doing any good, Winona mused, looking at Argus with a raised eyebrow. I don't know. Winona looked at the TV screen for a few seconds before snickering and rolling her eyes. Where does Nicole find this stuff?! She looked at him, lips bunched into an inquisitive line. You usually have some funny song and dance routine for Junior... Yeah... Richard shrugged. You don't seem very chipper today, Rucksack... Winona observed. Is joining the work force getting you down? Not support working for 'The Man'? That might be his secret villain name... Richard said absentmindedly. So you have a job as a comic book style evil henchman, Ruck? Winona chuckled. My boss is a super villain, Richard replied sullenly, his eyebrows two straight lines. Nicole just doesn't believe me. Come on! Winona laughed, one hand on her hip. Lighten up. Take it from somebody who had to put in the fifty plus year ride: You'll live. Get through working for Comic Book Man and you're on your way to being a resilient worker with a spine made of steel. So, you have an adamantium skeleton like Wolverine?! Richard asked with a wide, cheeky smile. Ruck, Winona sighed, shaking her head. How does Nicole deal with you? What's that supposed to mean?! Winona sighed again. I'll be in the kitchen playing cards. Call me when Junior gets stinky... But...I was going to ask you about- Winona held up a hand and wandered into the kitchen. Realizing that he wasn't going to get any further conversation from the old woman, Richard turned back to Argus. His mood had improved a little bit, so Richard found himself raising Argus in the air and making airplane noises as he gently steered Argus back and forth through the air. The baby laughed, wiggling his little tube-like arms in excitement. Smiling, Richard brought Argus back down and held him at arm's length. Daddy's gonna be a superhero! Richard said, both as encouragement to himself and news for his son. I'll beat the bad guy and save the day. Someday, you'll be my loyal sidekick: Super Robot. Grinning childishly, Richard brought Argus close to him, then started speaking in his impression of a news caster: Once again, the day has been saved by the Cottontail Cavalier and his son, the laser-shooting and most loyal sidekick a hero could ever want...Super Robot!

Five in the evening, on the dot. Richard's knees shook like jelly as he followed a crowd of otherwise bored and nervous co-workers into one of the many warehouses of The Blinking Lights Factory. A huge circular hole opened into a very dark, poorly lit factory space; everything was made of materials that were either black and gray or very dismal shades of earthen tone colors. There was a furnace at the very center of the room: a giant behemoth with a large metal door; slats on the door revealed dancing blue and violet flames within. Sparks and embers floated lazily in the air like leftovers from fireworks. Four rectangular prisms were attached to the furnace, followed by a smaller series of cubes and otherwise covered with spinning gears. At the end of each was a mouth with a rolling conveyer belt tongue. Richard was sweating like a pig, his clothes completely drenched as soon as they reached the conveyor belts. Taking a deep, rattling breath, Richard watched as Bricklin pointed at individual workers then directed them to stand at a point near the conveyor belt. Beads of sweat kept beading and running down Richard's face, yet when he looked closely enough at Bricklin: The bigger robot was fully decked out in a three-piece Victorian style suit, a glittering diamond pinning his scarf in place. He wasn't even breaking a sweat...  
Soon enough, Bricklin was rolling towards Richard, arms folded behind his back. Are you a demon?! Richard croaked. One of his coworkers shot him a disbelieving look for the comment while Bricklin just shook his head and chuckled. Still on that tack, Watterson? Bricklin raised an eyebrow. Then he pointed towards the very end of the nearest conveyor belt, the spot closest to the mouth and, on the same token, the furnace. There's your spot. Learn it, memorize it, love it, Bricklin snarked with a small smile. If the heat had been bad before, it grew much worse and intense as Richard forced himself to walk to the spot Bricklin had pointed towards. Each step brought Richard that much closer to toppling over and moaning. Once he was rooted in place, Richard was gasping, pulling helplessly at the collar of his shirt. The overbearing heat created the illusion of the world around Richard waving and shaking violently. With another short gasp, Richard knitted his brows, wondering how he was going to make it through an entire five hours if he could barely handle the first half-hour thus far.

Two hour mark...It was the two hour mark...  
At least that's what the petite, antlered peanut across the conveyor belt from Richard claimed. Both of them stared intently at the steady line of colorful, blinking lights spat out from the machine. By now, Richard recognized a pattern in the lights: two flashes meant the light was functional, three meant there was an issue with the blinking, and then there were the flat out duds. His brow crinkled as he nudged an ever-growing pile of duds next to his feet. Bricklin said he'd come and individually collect these at the very end of the shift...  
Feebly, Richard swiped at his forehead. His clothes were so wet and heavy he was sure they'd fall apart before this shift ended. Hey! the antlered peanut said suddenly. Richard looked up briefly, thankful for the distraction.  
My name's Celine Fitzgerald, she continued with a smile. You look familiar...I think we went to school together? Richard frowned, shrugging. I don't remember you... Doesn't matter, Celine chirped brightly. I'm just glad to see a familiar face! Hmmm...you're Richard Watterson, right? Yeah, Richard said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Now I remember you! You're Gary's girlfriend. Gary's wife, now. Celine's face lit up, dimples appearing as she tried to contain her smile. I heard you and Nicole got married a few months ago! It's so romantic how you two started out as shy kids that didn't know how to express your feelings and...twenty years later, you're happily married! I didn't really meet Gary until my senior year of high school... Richard groaned and rolled his eyes. He already had to deal with Nicole dragging him to chick flicks every once in a blue moon. At least she knew when to stop being all girly and gushy. As Celine started telling the story of how Gary had proposed to her, Richard secretly wondered if all women were this ridiculously obsessed with romance...He sighed again as he wondered if he'd ever be able to sell Nicole on the idea of playing Dungeons and Dragons with him...  
Finally, Celine got the hint. Slightly irritated, she let out a long breath as she reached out and grabbed one of the lights. It pulsated green and blinked one, two-The light suddenly became brighter, the throbbing light quickly gathering in intensity. Celine gritted her teeth and threw the light aside, looking over at Richard with wild eyes as she screamed: Watch out! She dived to the floor, but Richard stayed standing, bewildered. Suddenly, there was a loud clattering sound, followed by a torrent of glass shards; the shards briefly glinted green, then became an indiscernable haze of bright flashing white. One of the glass shards hit Richard, burying into his elbow. He bellowed, pain shooting up and down his arm. Another shard grazed his cheek before he finally leaped towards the ground, rolling like a turkey on a spit in a harried attempt to escape getting hit by more glass. Next thing he knew, he'd pitted himself right next to the giant furnace. Magma level heat seeped through, burning holes through the material of his shirt and leaving marks on his back. He could even smell his fur burning. Richard screamed, a loud and piteous noise. His arm, cheek, and back radiated and exploded with pain, a physical pain unlike anything that Richard had ever experienced before. Howling, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to roll into tight ball, relishing in the darkness behind his eyes. Despairingly hoping that his giant imagination could make the pain go away and he'd wake up a few moments later from a terrible dream. Frustrated tears started falling down his face; he could swear he heard a quick, brisk succession of footsteps. Small hands grabbed his shoulders and tugged. Richard groaned as he rolled over and splayed his limbs, the tears coming in a more frequent, consistent gush. Now Celine was hovering over him, her face etched with concern. Cooperate with me, she said in a soft, but firm voice. I've been trained in first aid. Mumbling incoherently, Richard watched from the corner of his eye as Celine popped her peanut shell open by a few millimeters, pulled out a small plastic box with a red cross on it, then closed her shell. She worked quickly and diligently, snapping on a pair of red rubber gloves as she dug a pair of tweezers and a roll of gauze out of her first aid kit. Minutes later, Richard had a makeshift bandage wrapped around his elbow and the cut across his cheek had been cleared up. He smiled nervously at Celine. We need to get you to the hospital, immediately- That won't be necessary, came Bricklin's booming voice. Celine turned and looked up at Bricklin; the giant man loomed over the two of them now, his face drawn into a stern, but unforgiving expression. Richard was surprised by how quickly Celine's caring and stern nurse demeanor changed almost instantly. With all due respect, Mr. Default- The two of you, he said impatiently, snapping his fingers. Follow me to my office. Celine gasped in indignation; Richard tried to push himself up, but collapsed instead, the heat, exhaustion, and pain getting to him. He grunted as Celine wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tried to lift him up. The petite peanut was stronger than Richard would have thought possible, but she still strained in her attempts to wrest his bulk. Gasping, Richard stood and wheedled himself into a position where Celine was only slightly supporting him, acting as a sentient walking cane. By the time they'd managed to be able to walk, Bricklin was already far ahead of them, his tiny wheel turning mercilessly fast. This realization made Richard sigh in exasperation; nothing was going to come easy tonight, was it?  
We'll get there, Celine said confidently, her tired and drawn expression contrasting her tone of voice. What about Bricklin? Richard asked weakly, fearfully. Don't worry about him, Celine replied curtly. Just focus on walking right now. As they trudged towards Bricklin's office, the journey felt like they were scaling a mountain rather than walking across the warehouse towards the main building. Curious and concerned stares followed them, and Celine shot a reassuring smile or a vague thumbs-up at the workers. Yet, Richard knew it was all an act; Celine was silent throughout most of their travel except for the sound of her breath and a few grunts. There was a quiet determination in her expression and the set of her mouth. Thank you, Celine, Richard managed after awhile, smiling up at her. She smiled weakly back before turning her gaze straightforward again. What's going to happen now? Richard asked, frowning. It's only our first night working here and... I don't know, Celine said solemnly. All I know is: As soon as I reach that office, I'm quitting and then driving you straight to the hospital. If the parking lot were closer, I'd leave without confronting Default at all...I'm sorry you're in so much pain, Richard. You didn't do anything... I...picked up that light, though, Celine sighed. I wasn't thinking. Accidents happen. Plus, you wrapped me up in bandaids and stuff...I'd prefer Super Man bandaids, but I'm definitely grateful! Richard said with a cheerful smile. I just hope I can find another job... Celine said mournfully. My husband and I both decided to take on a second job because...I really need the money for nursing school. You're working two jobs?! Richard gasped, absolutely incredulous. I have to... Celine said with a tiny crescent moon smile. Besides, my day job is pretty lax anyway... Richard furrowed his brows as he thought. Then he pulled away from Celine and started, with difficulty, walking by himself. You can't quit, Celine! Richard cried, spreading his arms. I refuse to work for a man that lessens the seriousness of on-site accidents, Celine growled. I know the economy is in the dump, but I'm not lowering my standards. With renewed vigor, the woman stomped towards Richard and put her arm around his shoulders again, forcing him to let her help support him. And by extension, I'm not leaving a helpless patient. What if you can't find another job?! Richard floundered. So be it, Celine replied. I'll find another way. The rest of the trip towards Bricklin's office, Richard couldn't help peppering Celine with questions. And, no matter how opposing Richard seemed, the woman's resolve only grew that much stronger. On some level, Richard knew he was taxing her patience, but she never showed it outwardly. Outside of Bricklin's office, Celine made no move to hide her fury as she kicked the door open as hard as she could with the heel of her cowboy boot. Just like when he'd first interviewed Richard, Bricklin was seated at his ostentatious desk, hands folded on the desk top and a Grinch-like smile on his face. Ah, took you slowpokes long enough! he trumpeted. What did you want?! Celine demanded through gritted teeth. I'm going to triple your salaries for this week, Bricklin replied, leaning forward on the desk. On the condition that the two of you keep this incident a secret... He looked triumphant with one glass eye widened and the other narrowed. The implication of what he was saying was enough to entice Richard; his eyes were bugging out of his head. Even if he didn't realize exactly how much money Bricklin was offering, he knew that it'd be enough to help Nicole and Argus. That alone seemed like a good reason to keep secrets, despite how Richard's morality was starting to scream at him. Scoffing, Celine gingerly helped Richard ease into a nearby chair before turning towards Bricklin. Hands balled into fists at her sides, Celine approached the desk; she reached out and grabbed the edge, leaning in forward slightly. From where he was, Richard couldn't tell what expression she was wearing, but her knuckles were white and Bricklin looked sadistically pleased. Do you honestly think I'd compromise my morals like that? Celine asked in a low, threatening tone. As soon as she said it, Bricklin dipped a hand into his jacket pocket, withdrew several crisp fifty dollar bills, and then unabashedly flashed them in Celine's face. Richard started to drool...He could buy so many collectible action figures with that kind of money...  
For a brief second, Celine hesitated, pulling her hands back and straightening up. The next, she lunged forward and swatted the money out of Bricklin's grip. As money fluttered through the air, Bricklin chuckled, still looking superior and condescending. With a suppressed groan, Celine wheeled around and grabbed Richard, forcibly half-dragging him out of the office. All the way towards the door, Richard looked back at Bricklin, confused, kind of angry, and tempted all in one fell swoop. Bricklin winked at him, raising the bills again and mouthing: These could be yours...

The night was cool, comforting, refreshing. Richard felt like an exhausted dog as he leaned out of the side passenger window of Celine's car, his long tongue lolling out of his mouth. Silhouetted trees and shadowed houses passed by in a slow, smooth succession. Celine's car made a slow rumble as she pulled it to the curb, right outside of the small house where Richard lived with Nicole. Here you are, she said in a slightly stoic tone. Thank you. Richard unbuckled his seat belt, but stopped. Hey...Celine? Yes? She wasn't even trying to mask her impatience anymore. Are you going back to The Blinking Lights Factory? he asked, curious and anxious. Richard, you're not quitting, are you? Celine asked, a slight edge to her voice. No, he replied, no hesitation. The woman looked like she was rolling the world on her shoulders as she leaned forward and released an exasperated breath. Head tilted towards the steering wheel, she said in a resigned way, Then tonight was my two week notice... What's that mean? Celine stared at him, her face a mix between quizzical and irritated. Since you're not going to tell Nicole about how brutal Bricklin is, somebody needs to stick around to keep an eye on you. So, out of friendly concern, I'm going to make sure you escape Bricklin...alive. Before Richard could ask anything else, Celine had shifted to a different gear and was driving away into the night. He watched her wood paneled sedan until it reached the end of the street and turned left, disappearing in the fuzzy haze of a pair of red tail lights. As he continued to stare helplessly into the distance, Richard was startled when Nicole's fingers suddenly latticed through his. She looked up at him through half-lidded, tired eyes. Welcome home, honey, she mumbled sleepily. I was just on my way to come pick you up... I got a ride home with a coworker, Richard said quietly, Celine's words turning circles in his mind. Mmm. Nicole lightly tugged on his hand. ...bed. The mention of the word bed made Richard realize just how dead tired he was. He let Nicole pull him into the house. As soon as they were inside, though, Richard's jaw dropped to the floor. Nicole was dressed in nothing but a skimpy red nightie. It barely covered her, riding up as she leaned back to reveal a brief flash of black underwear. He started blushing furiously despite himself, staring at her toned legs, at the way her tail swiped nonchalantly across the floor. As his eyes traveled up towards her face, her smile grew and there were faint sparkles in the depths of her dark irises. She'd only been faking being tired...  
Eyes at half-mast, her bedroom eyes shot Richard up and down like a zapped lightning rod. Now she'd leaped at him, wrapping her slender arms around his neck and pressing the tip of her nose against his. He cringed as her fingers started to slide down his neck towards his back. Gritting his teeth and heart hammering against his rib cage, Richard reached back and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. Nicole purred, stroking the top of his head with her free paw. I'm in the mood! she moaned. Richard's heart beat faster; he knew he'd have to deal with this eventually. But why did it have to be tonight?! It wasn't that he didn't want to; his loins were aflame something fierce now, but he was far too exhausted and frustrated both physically and emotionally. Plus, that kind of activity would be a one-way ticket to dismembering his plans!  
Nicole! he said seriously, taking her other wrist and lowering her hands. Gently, he held her hands and looked her in the eyes; she was looking back at him, bewildered and expectant. I'm...not in the mood tonight, he said firmly. Richard! she cried. We didn't even... She sputtered. Not on our honeymoon. And...not even now to celebrate?! Frowning, Richard reached up and cupped her face in his palm. Please, Nicole? She touched the back of his hand, closed her eyes, and sighed in disappointment. Then she sniffed the air, crinkled her nose, and took a step back. Take a shower before bed tonight, please? Her gaze shifted up and down and her eyes grew wider. Have you been working near a volcano or something?! ...you could say that, Richard admitted sheepishly.

The next thing he knew, Richard had showered and was lying in bed, clad in nothing but his underwear, across from his worried wife. Much to his despair, he'd had to spill the beans. There was no way Nicole would let him go back to The Blinking Lights Factory, no matter how much money he could potentially make. I should have taken you seriously when you said he was a comic book villain... Nicole mused, folding her arms and looking down at her feet. Then she turned her gaze back up towards him. You have to quit, Richard. Richard bit down on his lip, a lump in his throat. A big part of him was desperate to get away from Bricklin and his heinous factory, and now that he had a true opt out, he knew he should take it. Yet, he felt a burning pyre of resistance inside. We'll find another way to pull through on bills, Nicole assured him, placing a tender hand on his shoulder. Promise. That was where the conversation ended for Nicole. She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, promises for tomorrow night. Then she reached out and switched off the lamp on the end table beside the bed, bathing the room in total darkness. Even the curtains were closed, depriving Richard of hoping to look out at the moon. As he sat in the dark, he didn't feel the childish fears that usually came with it. Tonight, he felt like a different person, older and wiser than what he usually was. Yet, that wisdom was fringed by furious, adolescent-brand rebellion. He leaned back against the headboard, feeling utterly helpless. The money they needed was right there. Right within reach...  
Richard wanted to cry out in frustration; he hated Bricklin Default, but he hated not being able to help Nicole and Argus more. Squeezing his eyes shut, he started crying. He was thoroughly exhausted by now that if he just collapsed onto the mattress he could sleep for an entire week. But he just couldn't bring himself, no he couldn't allow himself, to give in to sleep right now. The proverbial hamster in his mind was racing at hyperspeed in its' wheel, not tiring, just getting faster with each time Richard relived the past two days and what worries came with them. Heaving a big, shuddering breath, Richard let the tears fall. Eyes still wide open, Richard continued to stare at absolutely nothing; he didn't even try to swipe the tears away this time. As more time continued to pass, he slowly, ever so slowly, started to calm down. His heart was beating more slowly now, a managable tattoo against his rib cage. Just as he was about to close his eyes and start slipping into dreamland, a gentle finger reached out and brushed one of his tears away. Richard snapped to attention, eyes widening as...Bricklin floated into view? Yet, this Bricklin was much different: for one, he was a transparent figure made of white outlines. If Richard stared long enough, the lines seemed to vibrate and jump. Though, what was even more unnerving was the genuine smile on Bricklin's face. His glass eyes looked sad and he looked older, as if aged by the same stress that was getting to Nicole. Bricklin, Richard said in a small voice. No, sighed the ghost-like figure. I'm Damien, the man that Bricklin used to be. Damien is a much cooler name, Richard said, mustering a smile. I agree, Damien said, laughing in a way that Bricklin never would have. I don't really have much time to explain myself. In short: I'm a part of Bricklin. One that...may never come back. Are you asking me for help? No, Damien replied evenly, placing his hands on Richard's shoulders. I'm asking you to stay away from The Blinking Lights Factory. Richard's brow furrowed. But...my family really needs- Damien looked sad as he closed his eyes and his face scrunched up. It was a long, painful moment before he opened his eyes again. I know that the money would help you. That it would sustain you, your wife, and Argus, Damien sighed, letting out a shuddering breath. But...I can't let you go through what it takes to get it. If it'll help my family, then I'll do whatever it takes! Richard protested, defiant. I won't let you, Damien said in a steely tone. I'm not going to let you suffer at the hands of Bricklin! You can't stop me, Richard replied, only that much more determined now. So be it, Damien exhaled. Suddenly, Richard felt like ice water was running through his veins: A figure in a long, dark cloak emerged from the shadows. Even though the figure carried no scythe, the hood covering his face was enough for Richard to recognize who it was. Damien looked at Richard with pained, expressive eyes. The look scalded Richard, burning through his skin, bones, and heart, leaving a branding mark on his soul; Damien knew things, a lot of things that Richard didn't. Though, Richard couldn't ask him anything else, because Damien was starting to fade, leaving only the Grim Reaper behind. Slowly, Grim reached out and Richard started scuttling backwards. Yet, despite how hectic and quickly he moved, the slow pace of the Reaper's arm kept up. Soon enough, the Reaper was touching Richard's forehead. Whimpering softly, Richard watched as the Reaper used his other hand to pull the cloak's hood back and reveal a white face with a glowing pair of yellow eyes. Just as Richard was about to scream, the Reaper said in a soft voice, It's not your time yet. While that response answered the dread boiling in Richard's stomach and the worst question he'd never want to ask, he was still greatly unnerved and rattled. Richard just blinked, continuing to stare fearfully into the Reaper's steady golden eyes. Slowly, those eyes became a pulsing and bright white to the point it was almost blinding. A few seconds passed and Richard gasped, noticing the three white stripes in the Reaper's hair that he hadn't before; the stripes were rounding the circumference of the Reaper's head until they synced up to form three complete circles. A few more seconds passed and everything started getting enveloped and consumed by bright white light. Richard cried out as tingles raced all over his body from his fingertips to his toes, a firework explosion of indefinable sensation. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't exactly pleasant, either. Closing his eyes, Richard despaired at how the light singed his eyelids. All of this bright white was going to wake Nicole...  
Richard...? came Nicole's soft voice. Yet, despite how muted it sounded, there was something about her current tone of voice that seemed off. As he opened his eyes and blinked, Richard was utterly surprised by how well-rested and relaxed he felt. He didn't even remember falling asleep. One moment, he'd been in some unnamed dimension where he'd been fearing for his life and now...now he was back in bed?  
All of his existential questions vanished as soon as he saw Nicole's face, though. She looked like the entire world around her had just shattered and it was her fault. Tears squiggled out of her eyes and down her face, only growing in intensity as they fell, but she made no move to wipe them away. Immediately, Richard sat up and grabbed Nicole, pulling her into a tight embrace. She just lay there, letting herself sob and carry on into his chest hair. Despite his fervent curiosity and mounting worry, Richard tried to stay patient. Close to twenty minutes passed before Nicole summoned the strength to push away from him and collect some sort of composure; she was still an obvious wreck despite swiping at her face and sniffing into her shirt collar. What's going on, Nicole? Richard demanded, sounding a bit more gruff than he'd intended to. Richard, Nicole sounded desperate. We're getting evicted tomorrow. She shook her head. Winona offered to give us a place to stay, but... She shook her head again. Argus- As soon as she said the baby's name, she broke off in a long wail. Nicole! Richard dived towards her and grabbed her forearms. What about Argus?! It's obvious we're financially incapable of taking care of him, Nicole said with closed eyes. We're going to have to give him up for adoption, Richard... No! Richard was surprised by the waver in his voice. No, Nicole! Let me go back to The Blinking Lights Factory! I'll- No, Richard! Nicole shrieked. We're not giving up Argus! Richard cried, tears starting to run down his own face. I don't care if I have to go through hell and face the Devil himself. We're not giving up Argus. Richard... Nicole looked like she was caught in-between a multitude of emotions. As she was about to say something, Richard pulled away from her and walked towards the bedroom door. Drive me to The Blinking Lights Factory, Richard commanded. No, Nicole whispered, brows furrowed. No... Drive me! Richard barked. Nicole looked up at him, glaring with heated coals in her eyes and her mouth set in a hard frown. Balling her fists, she stomped towards the nearby dresser, then pulled out a shirt and pants. Gritting her teeth, she approached Richard and shoved the clothing items at him, giving him a rough punch to the solar plexus in the process. Gasping in pain, Richard looked down at her, utterly bewildered. I want to show you something, Nicole said curtly, eyebrows a pair of angry lightning bolts.

Nicole was a freight train, marching down the sterile white hallway with Richard in tow. Nurses and doctors sped to get out of her path, some scared and others muttering curse words. Every time Richard tried to say something or ask a question, Nicole silenced him with a silent, slicing glare. Finally, she started to slow, her grip on Richard's wrist loosening a little. Nervously, Richard eyed the marks that she was starting to leave there; a few strands of pink fur actually rose and wrapped around her glittering claws. They stopped just outside of Room 56. Several nurses and doctors stood waiting, a few of them shooting pointed looks at Nicole. One nurse in pink stepped forward, forcibly placing himself between Nicole and the door. Silently, Richard feared for the effeminate-looking flower man's safety. This patient is under very strict watch, the nurse said snippily. I'm only here to say hello, Nicole said, sounding much calmer and restricted than her aura exuded. I'm Nicole Watterson, a friend of hers. Oh! the nurse gasped, stepping back. Of course. She's been wondering if you'd come back. She also asked if you could bring Richard? The nurse shot Richard an inquisitive look. He's with me right now, Nicole said evenly. The nurse nodded and joined the other two, folding his dark green leaves in front of him. Nodding back, Nicole reached out and opened the door to the room. Slowly, she and Richard entered; Richard's confusion and indignation was quickly replaced with quick sand brand dread. He didn't notice anything else in the room: his eyes were instantly drawn to a bed in the very center. There...was Celine Fitzgerald. Her cracked and broken peanut shell lay next to the bed, leaning against the headboard. In the bed was a shriveled up cashew covered in burn marks and bruises, her entire body covered in various wires and cables, each feeding into a different machine. Richard didn't know he'd been holding his breath until he released in relief at the sight of a slowly rising and falling green line on a nearby heart monitor. Celine! Richard squawked, the tears gushing down his face at full force. Despite her horrible condition, she still managed a smile, her eyes creasing at the sides. Hey Richard, she said in a barely audible, coarse voice. What happened to you?! he cried. Celine closed her eyes and slowly turned her head against her pillow. She flopped a hand feebly at Nicole and, sighing, Nicole turned towards Richard, eyebrows knitted, and told Celine's story:

Celine... Bricklin said in a asickly sweet voice. There's a certain task I need you to perform. The antlered peanut turned away from studying lights on the conveyor belt and met Bricklin's smug look with a skeptic frown. She conceded to his request, then followed him across the warehouse. Mysteriously, Bricklin circled around the giant furnace until the two of them reached a metal door with a spinning handle on the other side. Next to the door was a shovel and a small pile of black coal. Gesturing towards the shovel, Bricklin smiled as he said: The furnace needs more fuel. If you would, please, Mrs. Fitzgerald? Celine frowned. Don't I need a special Hazmat suit or something? No, Bricklin assured her with a smile. You'll be fine. I'm not stupid, Celine snarled as she curled her lip back. There's blue flames in there. In addition, my coworkers and I can barely stand the heat. A few have even close to heat exhaustion! You came back, didn't you? Bricklin countered, raising a single finger. You'll have to do harder tasks to get the extra compensation you seek... I'm not doing this! Celine growled, gritting her teeth. With that, Bricklin turned away from her, cupping a hand around his mouth as he yelled: Whoever wants an easy five hundred dollars, get over here and fuel the furnace! Barely seconds after he'd announced this, a frantic and hysterical brown robot rushed over. Fervently, the bot rolled the door handle and wrenched it open. Once the door opened, a huge tongue of blue flames. Bricklin watched, giggling, eyes flashing as the flames completely incinerated the unsuspecting bot. Much to Celine's misfortune, she was close enough to the flames that her shell started cracking. Each crack sent electric jolts through her body and boomed thunder in her ears. Suddenly, a huge piece of her shell fell away. Shrieking, she started to run away, but she'd been encased in the flames long enough that she caught on fire. She fell to the floor, rolling desperately and crunching, her shell cracking. The pain was intense, and unimaginable. All Celine could do was scream bloody murder, her screams turning into hysterical sobbing as she wished, hopelessly, for the fire's brutal, malicious attack to stop...

Just as Nicole finished, Richard scrambled towards the bed. In his clumsiness, he almost tripped and wrapped himself up in the cords around Celine's bed. Gingerly, he reached out and took Celine's hand, holding it gently between his two large rabbitt paws. The gesture caused her to open her eyes and look up at Richard. Celine... he whispered sadly. I'll pull through, she croaked weakly. Celinnneeee! Richard whined. I'll pull through, she said again. Just promise me one thing, Richard? Anything, he whispered, stroking her fingers. Quit your job at The Blinking Lights Factory, Celine replied, her voice barely a whisper. Weakly, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Silently, Richard just stared at her, feeling hollowed out inside and numb all over.

There was The Blinking Lights Factory...  
Richard stood across the street with Winona, watching as giant plumes of smoke drifted into the sky. Nicole stood next to Richard, clinging to his arm like a life raft and sobbing silently. In front of them stood the small and unsympathetic Neil Default, Bricklin's younger brother and the cutthroat representative lawyer for the Defaults as a whole, followed by Neil's large, box-chested bodyguards. Vaguely, Richard could see the retreating form of Bricklin Default. Just like Neil, Bricklin was flanked on either side by bodyguards. Though, what really caught Richard's eye, was how Bricklin held Argus: the baby's tiny head was just barely visible over Bricklin's shoulder. Somehow, despite being so young and tiny, Argus was vaguely aware of what was going on. For the very first time in his entire existence, Argus was thrashing and screaming, trying with all of his might to escape from Bricklin. Each struggle led to the baby getting louder and louder, his wails a siren shriek that broke ear drums and hearts alike. Nicole was sobbing and carrying on just as loudly, if not worse than Argus, her tears staining Richard's shirt. Her grip was a pinching vise on his arm. Tears were starting to blur Richard's vision. He closed his eyes just as Bricklin stepped into a waiting limo and closed the door behind him with a small snap. The sound of footsteps, followed by more closing car doors. When Richard opened his eyes again, he was staring at an empty spot and a foreboding building across the road. The silence...the emptiness...  
Finally, Richard couldn't take it anymore. He collapsed to the sidewalk, Nicole falling after him and the two were tangled up in each other's limbs for a long time, mumbling and murmuring to each other. Sobbing and weeping. Tasting the salt of tears. In the back of his mind, Richard heard an unfamiliar voice: After today, you'll never have to experience this kind of torment again. If you ever try to defy your pre-defined role, the entire fabric of your universe will face the consequences... A beat passed. Then the unfamiliar voice was followed by a slightly more familiar one: Take heart, Richard. For no matter what happens now, know that you'll always be the true father of Argus Damien Watterson... 


	5. Chapter 5: Strawberry Rabbit

5: Strawberry Rabbit

Celine slowly closed her eyes, feeling her soul starting to pull away from her body. Next to her bed, her husband Gary clutched her hand, his fingers squeezing like an impatient boa constrictor. The words "I love you" were at the very tip of Celine's tongue, but she felt her last breath sail out and beyond her lips before she could say them. Her arms tingled; the threads attaching her soul had completely detached now.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Celine looked down at her dead body, watched the tear starting at the edge of her husband's eye. If only she could reach out and pull him into a tender embrace, tell the gruff peanut with the gooey caramel center that everything would be alright...

"Celine Fitzgerald?" prompted a soft voice.

Her floating ghost form turned, her eyes widening when she saw the Grim Reaper for the first time. She hadn't expected a pale skinned, golden eyed alien. Let alone one so young and dressed up in such fancy attire. Despite herself, Celine smiled a little. "You're quite handsome, young man."

"Thank you," he said graciously, nodding his head and smiling. It was a quaint, seldom smile, Celine observed.

"I suppose it's..." She trailed off, knowing she couldn't keep herself in check. The sadness and disappointment was too overwhelming. Yet, while she frowned, the Reaper's smile only intensified. What was this kid, a sadist?

With a thoughtful look, he reached out and lightly took her thin wrist. "You've been spared," he said quietly, happily. "It was a hard sell to my father, considering the most recent favor he granted went very, very wrong." His eyes were shining. "But you're a much different case. It's people like you that give us reapers faith in humanity. And I'm very happy to tell you I hope you have a very long, successful, and happy life...Never stop polishing that heart of gold, Celine."

Celine couldn't contain her smile. She leaned forward and enveloped the Reaper in a giant bear hug.

"Thank you!" she squeaked.

When she pulled away, he was blushing furiously, smiling awkwardly as his face turned more red than a tomato. Carefully, he led her back towards her physical body. The entire time Celine eased back in, she never let go of the kid's hand. When she finally did, she blew a small kiss as he waved and started to disappear.

Celine opened her eyes again, blinking away the flourescent light. It was kind of depressing to be bedridden and pained again after being a free flying spirit, but as soon as she saw the look of utter relief and pure joy cross Gary's face...That was all she really needed to feel like a bursting, optimistic firecracker inside.

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{

Gart still remembered the day Dad first brought the little orange Mechanical home. All Gart could do was stare and frown, subliminally thinking of how he'd dismantle and destroy the fabled Mechanical Stork that brought babies to households. Dad said that 'Robot' was Gart's younger brother and that as soon as Robot could walk and talk, he was going to be Gart's rival for ownership of the Blinking Lights Factory someday. Of course, Robot the little, wide-eyed idiot didn't understand the gravity of this; but it didn't stop Gart from glaring heatedly at him, his fists clenching. The more intense Gart's glare became, the more the tears built up in Robot's eyes. And then Gart found himself deriving a peculiar sort of pleasure from watching the infant squirm, thrash, and cry.

Six-year-old Gart mused over this memory while he sat in the corner, drumming his fingers rhythmically against the sides of his chair.

He grimaced with impatience as he allowed his smiling, giggling younger sibling attach various scratch and sniff stickers to his chassis. Robot was a very happy, vibrant little boy; his every movement and action revealing his inner sunshine. As Robot had developed the abilities to walk and talk, Gart found himself in a constant inner war: Some part of him saw the remnants of who Dad used to be and reveled in every smile and quirk Robot expressed, while another part hated and despised Robot for simply existing, branding him with the blame for why the Default household continued, slowly, reaching subzero temperatures.

When he finished, Robot smiled at Gart. "Look!" he encouraged.

Gart sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, but did as the younger boy instructed. Of course, the stickers were Robot's favorite trademark: pastel pink rabbits. Vaguely, Gart reached up and scratched at one of the stickers; it smelled like strawberries.

"Can you take the stickers off now?" he complained, looking back at Robot.

"You have to sniff them all first!" Robot replied with a wide smile.

"Why...?" Gart groaned, reaching out and trying to peel away one of the stickers. To his chagrin, his fingers were too thick and sausage-like; only Robot's thin and tiny claws would be able to get the sticker to give way and take it off. This realization made Gart grit his teeth and mutter angrily under his breath.

"I heard you say you liked strawberries...," Robot said, looking concerned. "I thought that if you got to smell some, it'd make your frown turn upside down..." He smiled cherubically. "I know pink bunnies make me happy..."

Again, Gart found himself caught between emotions: a rush of affection and a prickling, festering distaste. The frustration brought tears to his eyes and he noticed that Robot was staring up at him, that smile turning into an "O" of concern.

"Take the stickers off!" Gart barked.

His tone made Robot blink, cringe, and sniffle, but the little boy complied. As Robot worked, Gart reached out and started flicking at Robot's antenna, smirking fiendishly. Every time Robot yelped or protested, Gart only became that much more entertained, snickering. Once Robot had removed all the stickers, he reached out and grabbed Gart's wrist, looking up at him with wary eyes.

"Stop it!"

"Now you know how _I _felt," Gart snarked, reaching out with his free hand and starting to flick at Robot's antenna again.

Frowning, Robot just sat there, letting Gart continue. After awhile, Robot became so irritated and frustrated that he rolled away from Gart and sped out of the room in a huff, leaving Gart to sit there and laugh like a hyena.

Warily, Gart peered into Robot's room, watching the toddler's form squirm and writhe. Finally, Robot yawned, stretched his arms, and rolled over onto his side. Assured that the toddler was asleep, Gart pulled away and softly closed the door.

Whenever Robot was awake, he was stuck to Gart like glue; he looked at Gart with wide, adoring eyes, hanging on the older boy's every action, every word. It drove Gart crazy. He'd _never_ wanted to be a big brother, but then again, there were a lot of things he'd never wanted, but they happened anyway. As he wandered down the hallway, Gart mused over a prospect that endlessly hung above his head like an omnipresent guillotine: what life would be like _without_ Robot.

He'd seen the way Mom squared her shoulders and looked at Robot with slitted eyes whenever Robot was around. Subtle hints and cues alluded to Gart that...Mom didn't know what to do with Robot either. Did she..._hate_ him, like Gart felt he should?

Performing his daily ritual, Gart sneaked into Dad's private study. There was the plush red armchair he used to park himself in when he came home from work. Gart sneaked a look around: The room was pretty much empty. With a rush of giddiness, Gart dashed towards the chair and clambered up into it. He closed his eyes and summoned nostalgic memories: anything that involved what he considered the "good old days."

For an entire half hour, he went swimming in whatever came to mind. The days when Dad still called himself Damien and had an ever-present face-splitting grin. The man that loved Gart and Mom more than life itself. Gart sighed contentedly at a particular memory:

He was curled up in Dad's lap and Dad was telling him about his dreams for The Blinking Lights Factory: "It won't be The Blinking Lights Factory when you take over, son. As technology improves and the world evolves, the Defaults can't continue to rely on an outdated and archaic formula. Oh, no. What we need is a kindhearted, openminded, and guiding visionary. We'll be the ones that help truly creative minds that need that extra entrpeneurial edge. Gart, just imagine...You could grow up and change our part of the world for the better!"

"Really?" Gart asked.

"Yes," Dad encouraged, taking Gart's tiny hands in his large ones. "But, above everything else, you and Arpa are the most important part of my life. If you decide to pursue something other than taking over the family business, you have my full support."

"But...I wanna be a businessman like you, Daddy!" Gart trumpeted.

Dad smiled and pulled Gart into a hug...

"_Gart!"_

Loud voice...It was Bricklin.

Reluctantly, Gart opened his eyes and came back to reality. Unlike in his memories, Dad was frowning, a cold look chiseled there. With a small sound, Gart scrambled out of the chair and stumbled away, watching as Dad maneuvered his large, boxy form onto the seat. Once he was seated, Bricklin made a dismissive gesture as he started to shuffle through papers and files on his desktop.

Gart didn't move. "Dad?"

Dad cleared his throat, then turned towards Gart with a drawn, irritated look. "Leave me to my work," he grunted.

"One question," Gart wheedled. "Then I'll leave and won't bother you for the rest of the week."

As the words exited his mouth, they stung like needles. And the metaphor became a physical tingle as he watched Dad thoughtfully contemplate just this. After a long moment, he nodded.

"Fair enough," he acceded, then followed, "Learn to haggle better, son. You should be so aggressive, your end of the bargain is so little it's inconsequential. Remember that." He nodded in finality, steepling his fingers. "Now, ask. I don't have all day..."

_You used to pretend that you did..._Gart thought morosely.

"Where did Robot come from?" Gart demanded, clenching his fists. "And don't give me the stupid stork stuff. Or the process, itself. I want to know where he came from. As in, I _know _his existence wasn't a mutual decision between you and Mom!"

Dad actually looked surprised for a moment, but it passed, melting into his smug, condescending demeanor. "You're right, Gart," he admitted calmly, way too casually. "Arpa and I never planned on having a child beyond just you...But, I'll be blunt: Shit happens." He leaned in towards Gart until their faces were mere millimeters apart; Gart gulped suddenly, fearing how much anger was reflected in his father's eyes. This was the side of his father he hated the most.

"I had to compete against _nine_ other siblings to earn my spot," he growled. "You won't be getting any sympathy from me, you little wretch. I'm _not_ handing over the Factory on a silver platter. You have to _earn_ it. And you already know how." He took a sharp breath and whispered harshly: "You have to become the textbook description of a truly cold, indifferent, but most of all, _brutal _Default man."

Nine-year-old Gart stood in-between Mom and Dad, resisting the urge to try and hold one of their hands. They just stood there, stoic and condescending as they watched the other guests at the Lady Madame party. Every now and then, Mom made some snooty or rude comment behind her hand and Dad laughed. Even though it seemed mean, Gart reasoned that it was okay, since his parents were at least...talking to each other...

Before he could continue ruminating on this, though, a tiny claw suddenly nabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to the floor. Eyes wide and blushing in embarrassment, Gart turned and stared as Robot looked back at him, smiling cheekily; the little six-year-old was peaking out from under the buffet table.

"Join me!" Robot enthused.

"No!" Gart barked in a low whisper, eyes narrowed.

"But this is boring," Robot reasoned. "Mommy and Daddy are too busy being big meanie-jerkfaces. They won't notice!"

"I _refuse_ to make a fool of myself!"

"Nobody will see you if you're under the table," Robot crowed in a sing-song voice.

Despite his common sense, Gart found himself casting a look over his shoulder at Mom and Dad before quickly darting under the table to join Robot. He just barely fit, his antenna bending against the table's metal bottom. When Gart let the white table cloth fall behind him, everything became darker. It was difficult to see with the only available light seeping in from under the cloth's fringe.

"I'm only here to make sure _you_ don't make a fool of yourself!" Gart warned, fighting back on an oncoming rush of fear. He hated the darkness.

Robot just laughed as he lowered his cylindrical body to the tile floor and started crawling secret agent style. Cautious, Gart followed, cringing at how much dirt the little Mechanical was now covering himself in.

Suddenly, Robot stopped and rolled into a standing position. He shot a conspiratorial smirk at Gart as he started to life the table cloth: there was the lacy hem of an anonymous refined lady's dress. To Gart's utter horror, Robot reached out and gently grabbed the hem. He was blushing furiously every inch Robot brought the hem higher, and Gart suppressed a sigh of relief behind his hand when Robot stopped.

Then, Robot started clipping and snipping strategically at the hem with small whirs and snicks. When he finished, he eagerly ushered Gart over with several emphatic arm movements. Cheeks puffed out, Gart rolled over; his eyes became bowling balls. Robot had carved crude, amateurish outlines of rabbits into the lace. Now Robot was snickering; he lifted the woman's dress high enough that Gart caught a look at her bloomers.

As Gart's face turned tomato red, insides boiling and gurgling in utter rage, Robot took off, giggling churlishly into his claws. Gart slapped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming, then took off after Robot. When Robot realized Gart was in hot pursuit, his face was all smiles, and he sped up. Grunting, Gart rolled faster, his arms outstretched, fingers ready to nab the little miscreant.

Every time Gart came close, even by a millimeter, Robot managed to pour on that much more speed. Suddenly, Robot rocketed out from under the table, causing the table cloth to flutter. Gart just barely missed getting hit; his left eye was twitching and he felt the beginning stirs and sparks of electricity.

"You can't catch me!" Robot called cheerily as he swerved around unsuspecting party guests.

"ROBOT!" Gart screamed, his voice loud enough to bring everyone to silence and elicit a bunch of dagger tip glares and angry leers.

Gasping and eyes widening, Robot careened to a stop. Electricity encircled Gart's entire body now; he was about to erupt in spasms and malfunction. Yet, just as his eyes started scrolling through warning binary code, he still grabbed Robot by the wrist and yanked him towards him. Robot's jaw dropped and his pupils shrank as Gart reeled back, fingers curling into a fist.

"GART!" Robot squealed, windmilling in panic. "I'M SORRY!"

The words fell on deaf ears; Gart's fist came forward at full force and shattered Robot's left eye. Glass splintered and rained to the floor, sparkling in the light.

Pain coursed through Robot's wires, but he was numb to the physical pain. His face was frozen in shock and silent horror; all he could do was stare at Gart, jaw dropped. In his chest, the little boy's heart was crumpling in on itself and breaking. The one other Mechanical he'd hoped, desperately hoped, would be his friend in a world that seemed so relentless...

That was when Dad showed up...a satisfied smile pasted to his face. He reached out and placed a large hand on Gart's shoulder. "Good work, son."

Those words brought a smile to Gart's face that Robot never thought he'd see: a smile that was truly genuine, warm..._Why can't I make my brother smile like that?_

Just as the thought crossed Robot's mind, Mom grabbed him by the arm and forcibly pulled aside. The white pearls around her neck glowed softly, a great contrast to the anger crisscrossing her face.

"Robot," she said in that stern, silently furious tone Robot had come to fear.

"W-what, Mommy?" he squawked, shaking.

"I'm taking you home _immediately_," she said as she reached out and grabbed Robot's arm. "After today, we're never bringing you to a high class function again. I'm very disappointed in you-"

"NO!" Robot squealed, viciously wrenching his arm away from her.

At first, she was surprised, but then she was twice as angry as before. Howling, she dived at Robot, hands outstretched. In a blind panic, Robot dodged, then peeled away as fast as his wheels could roll. The faster he went, the more squeaking and protesting he heard from his wheels as they dug against the material of the floor. Somehow, Robot made it through the giant, maze-like mansion; Mom's thin, strained voice sounded like a distant echo in a canyon from here.

The new distance between them flooded Robot with some relief, but he was still vexed enough to push open the front doors and take off into the bright, balmy day. Determined, Robot jogged through the rich district of the city until he reached downtown. But now the little boy was lost, surrounded by potentially ill-intentioned strangers and strangely jutted and angled buildings. The rest of his journey, Robot meandered along much more slowly, much more nervously.

A few people gave him a passing glance, but then just moved on. As Robot wandered deeper into the heart of the city, his fear kept intensifying. An eternity seemed to pass and, by now, Robot had reached the central park. Anxious and shaking, he entered, looking around at the lush and green surroundings with misting eyes. Common sense led him towards the nearest tree. Emotional exhaustion made him lean against the trunk and sink slowly towards the dirt, mouth a quivering line.

Hugging himself, Robot wondered if he'd been right to just run away like that. Guilt prodded him like a stick; he'd known that he was supposed to sit in the corner and be quiet and motionless. If he'd just done as he was told, everything would still be okay. Mommy wouldn't be mad; Gart would still...

Wait...

Silent tears started falling. Up until now, Robot hadn't really thought about his now-busted eye. Now, he reached up and touched it gingerly, tingles running through his fingers as he relived the brutal moment. His heart beat slowly, a somber metronome.

It'd been one thing to know Mom and Dad didn't really care about him. That he was just a decoration to pin to their clothes. But Gart...Robot had fostered this tiny, burning hope that Gart would be a diamond in the rough, a friend that Robot could rely on. When Mom and Dad got too overbearing, Gart could have been the supportive, loving older brother...Robot reached out and stroked the green grass with his claws. He knew he would have been there for Gart...

Instead, Gart hated him. This factoid had been literally staring Robot right in the face since he was born; he could vaguely remember Gart's narrowed eyes, that sneer, staring at him through the slats of his cradle when he'd been a tiny, helpless baby.

Robot heaved a low, shuddering sigh before reaching down and opening his front hatch. From there, he withdrew a small, hand-sewn plush toy. It was shaped like a large, kind of portly pink rabbit; it was even dressed in a tan polo shirt with a heart stitched onto the pocket and brown khakis. Robot had owned the mysterious toy since he was a baby, but he hadn't dicovered its' existence until he was two; that was when he'd started using his innards as a secret place to store things.

The toy had always been an enigma, stirring nostalgia and yearning in him that was so strong it could drown him. Yet, at the same time, when he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, he remembered something really far back. When he woke up, he could never recall exact details, but he felt a leftover strand of hope and happiness; something so close to euphoria that Robot glommed on to rabbits as a symbol of unadulterated joy. The very essence of warmth and love. A promise that if he just tried hard enough, he could spread those feelings and, someday, they'd be...permanent.

A huge lump formed in his throat as Robot clutched the doll close to his chest. He looked out now, watching others at the park. Kids were chasing each other; metal blocks were running around, barking. And there were also...families. Robot didn't want to look, but his eyes picked out a happy young couple with a little Mechanical boy around his age. The boy's mother patted him on the head and his father smiled, a large and proud smile.

The tears started falling from Robot's eyes like waterfalls. No way could he go home. Not to Arpa or Bricklin or Gart. They called themselves his family, but they weren't. Family was exactly what they weren't. Biting on his lip, Robot looked at the toy again, shuddering with how much he longed for its' symbolism to be reality rather than just a pipe dream.

He moaned softly.

"Hello!" croaked a loud, obnoxious voice. Feebly, Robot looked up: A lanky, terracotta orange Mechanical loomed over him, wearing a big, thin-lipped smile. This kid was definitely _different_; he came across as charming and alarming at the same time.

When Robot didn't respond, the older kid extended his hand and tipped the top hat he was wearing. "I'm Gizmo Default. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Gizmo seemed nice enough. His smile revealed teeth now, kind of crooked teeth. A bit less overwhelmed, Robot studied Gizmo: he was at least eight or older, around Gart's age. He wore Victorian style clothing: a pin-striped navy jacket, a black waist coat, a white scarf, and white spats. The get-up made Robot smile and he tried to suppress laughter.

"I'm Robot," he said, reaching out and taking Gizmo's hand. Gizmo started pumping his claw vigorously, as if it were a well handle. When he finished, Robot frowned and wrung his wrist like a wet wash cloth, just barely detecting feeling still there.

"Princess Invisivble!" Gizmo said suddenly, making rapid hand gestures.

"Who...are you talking to?" Robot prompted, looking around but not finding anyone.

"Princess Invisible, silly!" Gizmo chided. "She's been hanging out with you and your bunny for the past ten minutes or so!"

"But...there's _nothing_ there!" Robot protested.

Gizmo clucked his tongue, sharing a look with the thin air next to him. Then he turned back to Robot, smiling as goofily as before. "She's called Princess _Invisible_ for a reason," Gizmo said, winking and playfully flicking Robot's antenna. "It stinks that you can't see her. She's great company!"

Robot blinked, confused. The only thing he could surmise was that Gizmo was referring to his imaginary friend. In part, Robot envied him; he'd tried to create an imaginary friend before, but he usually gave up in favor of trying to befriend his brother, a tangible and physical being, instead.

"Princess and I were playing Hide n Seek!" Gizmo went on, clasping his hands. "Would you join us, Robot?"

Robot gasped, a smile slowly starting to stretch across his face. Nobody had ever asked him to join in playtime before. "Yes!" he trumpeted. "As long as I'm not-"

"You're _it_!" Gizmo bellowed, before giggling maniacally and taking off at a brisk jog.

Sighing heavily and rolling an eye, Robot went towards the tree, leaned against it, and started counting to ten.

"_This_ is my home!" Gizmo boasted, gesturing at a lonely cardboard box in a small, dirty alleyway.

Robot turned and shot a crazy look at Gizmo, which only made the taller Mechanical laugh.

"You thought it was the box, didn't you?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Before Robot could say anything else, a side door in the alleyway flew open. An older Mechanical came out; he had a slight hunch and leaned on a wooden cane, but was smiling brightly through a long, snow white beard. "Gizmo! Princess! I made a fresh can of beans," he called out. Then the older man saw Robot. "Hey, visible friend of Gizmo's, care to join us?"

Gizmo nodded eagerly, smiling. Shrugging, Robot followed his new friend towards the older man and into wherever the door led.

Apparently, Gizmo lived in a small, one-room apartment with this geezer. The room was barely larger than one of Dad's suit closets; yet, there were two skinny pallets, a fridge, and a small six-inch TV. Gizmo trooped over towards the bed on the left side of the room and plunked down, crossing his legs, then patting the side next to him.

When Robot approached, Gizmo reached out and grabbed the little Mechanical, holding him aloft. Playing Hide n Seek and being forced to look for a nonexistant phantom had been taxing enough, so of course Robot felt kind of wary with Gizmo holding him up and inspecting him like a mad scientist. A few grating seconds passed before Gizmo finally put Robot down.

"Why didn't you tell me we were family?!" Gizmo gasped.

"Ummm..." Robot's eyes were darting about.

"What's your dad's name?" Gizmo asked, giddy.

"B-Bricklin Default!"

Gizmo gasped again, his jaw dropping so far Robot was scared it might fall off. He reached out and held up his claws in a defensive way. Then, as quicky as Gizmo's jaw had dropped, it snapped back into place again.

"I'm. Your. Cousin," Gizmo whispered, uttering the words as if they were sacred. Then he reached out and grabbed Robot, pulling him into a big bear hug. "I've wanted to meet my new baby cousin _sooo_ badly!"

"Let the boy go, Gizmo!" the older Mechanical barked suddenly. He'd been in the process of using one of his claws to open a can; his other claw was trembling and he was inadvertantly crumpling the cylindrical body of the can.

Suddenly, Gizmo dropped Robot and the young boy fell back against the pallet with a small "oof." A confused Gizmo and the older man loomed over Robot now; the older man was glaring, working his jaw as if he was chewing on something.

"Princess!" he barked. "Is the boy able to see you?"

A long beat of silence as the old man looked to his right; Gizmo looked in the same direction, shaking his head and mouthing the word "no" several times. With a low grumble, the old man turned back to Robot. "I mean no ill will, boy, but you'll have to leave," he said curtly.

"Yes, sir..." Robot replied quietly, feeling a small prickle of disappointment.

Gently, Gizmo took Robot's hand, then led the younger boy out of the apartment and back out into the alley. A small breeze blew through and, looking up, Robot noticed dark clouds gathering overhead. Silently frowning, he wondered if he should have stayed in the park; Mom would have sent somebody to look for him and drag him back home by now...

"This is all _your_ fault!" Gizmo cried.

The sudden accusation panged Robot, causing him to turn and look up at his cousin. But, Gizmo wasn't even looking at Robot, he was glaring fire and brimstone at nearby empty air. A moment passed and Gizmo gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing, as if he were listening to somebody giving him a long lecture.

Then he stomped his foot and sighed, turning to Robot.

"I'm sorry," he placated. "Invisible ratted you out to Great Uncle Elijah...You see." Gizmo raised his hands and slumped his shoulders. "Elijah was admitted to the insane asylum at age sixteen because his parents didn't understand his being able to see and interact with King Invisible and Queen Isabella. He was stuck there most of his life and he just barely escaped."

"When I turned five, I met Princess Invisible for the first time," Gizmo continued with a giggle and a sheepish smile. "My parents disowned me when they found out." Now he was serious again. "I was lucky Elijah found me and took me in. But ever since, he's been extremely paranoid. He's worried that if we stay in one place too long or one of the older Defaults finds us, they'll admit us to the asylum..."

Robot absorbed all of this with a straight look on his face. When Gizmo finished, he was stuck between a newfound fear and overwhelming sympathy. His wheels were going to fall out from under him. The entire time, he'd just interpreted Princess Invisible as Gizmo having an overactive imagination, and beyond that quirk, Gizmo was a fun, creative, and cheerful guy.

Though, now, he wasn't sure what to think. Part of him felt like Gizmo was exactly the person he'd wanted to find, while another part was warning him, with bright red warnings, to stay away...

"Robot?" Gizmo said pleadingly. "Princess and I will find ways to hang out with you behind Elijah's back..."

A long moment passed, a war going on inside Robot's mind. Desperation, longing, and hope won: Robot launched himself towards Gizmo and hugged the taller Mechanical's legs. Tears started falling from his eyes and they became waterfalls when Gizmo leaned over and collected him into a deeper embrace.

"I promise to become the best cousin and friend you'll ever have!" Gizmo gushed.

"I promise, too," Robot said quietly, his insides aching. He felt one of the plush toy's ears brush against his heart then, and he started to smile.

Robot watched-tight-lipped and confused-the other kids running, screaming, and playing on the playground. He nervously scanned the crowd for an oddly dressed, eccentric ten-year-old that would be much taller than anyone else around; Gizmo could _easily_ stand out here and, not only that, he'd take pride in just that, too...

He'd be the only one that wouldn't shoot Robot strange looks for choosing to doodle sprockets over playing kickball, or tried to build a basic foundation for a cold fusion generator out of blocks while the other kids made castles and pirate ships. That last thought, Robot mused over with some modicum of bitterness.

An entire week had passed since his parents first demanded that he had to start attending school. That had been more than long enough for the little boy to decide he absolutely _hated_ it. Home was a prison with a sadistic prison guard and glowering parents who told Robot everything he did was wrong. Now there was school, a new and different prison, this time filled with judgemental, pea-brained brats that told Robot he was wrong based on a different set of standards and norms. And the teachers _insisted_ they were Robot's intellectual peers, but he knew better.

He glared, feeling strangely hollow inside. Then he cupped his cheek in his claw and looked down at the dirt, grabbed a nearby stick, then started a haphazard sketch in the dirt. Ten minutes or so passed and Robot was starting to get utterly absorbed in his work.

"...what's that?" somebody asked, but Robot ignored them, refusing to entertain the notion that somebody would actually approach him of their own free will.

He groaned as a tall shadow eclipsed him, completely blocking his light. Frustrated, Robot tossed his head up and glared...into the most open, friendly face he'd ever seen. It was enough to make his anger subside to the point he wasn't quite sure how to react.

"Hey!" the newcomer said. "What are you drawing?"

Robot tilted his head, instantly skeptic. The kid that had approached him was a purple Organic with curved horns and taller than Robot by at least two feet. He wore plaid suspenders and a wide, warm smile.

"I was thinking about the design and schematics I've seen in books for cathode ray TVs," Robot supplied. "I've been working on building my own for the past two weeks or so...It's tough, since I have to get an adult to buy me the supplies I need..."

Robot trailed off, expecting the kid to run off and join the others out of boredom.

"That is _so cool_!"

Robot's eyes widened and he gasped in surprise. The other kid looked absolutely ecstatic, his dark bead eyes crinkling at the edges. "I could get my Uncle Kuffley to buy you parts! What exactly do you need?!"

Robot felt a short crackle and pop, watching a few blue sparks flutter into the air. Much to his chagrin, the other kid noticed; Robot felt a huge lump in his throat. He'd watched Gart short circuit several times before, but he'd never done so himself, no matter how emotionally charged he became.

"Are you okay?" the other kid prompted.

"Yeah..." Robot lied, looking nervously at his arm.

"Are you sure-?" There was a fountain of sparks now; the other kid yelped. "I'm getting the teacher!" he squeaked. "She'll know what to do!"

Robot's pupils started to shrink as the larger boy ambled across the playground towards the nearest teacher: an older baboon woman named Ms. Simian. As soon as he approached her, he started talking in a rushed, concerned voice, gesturing wildly, and then pointing. That finger was a rushing arrow, piercing Robot in the shoulder as Ms. Simian turned and looked at him with narrowed, inquisitive eyes.

He remembered hearing some of the rumors the older kids spread about her...

The faintly sinister smile that started to crawl onto her face confirmed those rumors in one single, fell swoop.

"Oh...I've seen you," she said in a faux sweet voice as she came closer. "You're the one little boy that sits in the corner by himself and has no friends..."

Her words sliced Robot to the core; he felt the crackles worsen.

"Are you...antisocial?" Simian gibed, lids lowered. "What a weirdo, sitting by yourself under a tree and drawing in the dirt. All the other kids are actually _doing_ something..."

Robot gasped in pain. Flashes of Gart short circuiting swam through his mind, followed by every sick, condescending smirk he'd been given. He burst into tears, letting himself fall prey to a complete short circuit. His entire body spasmed, creaking and popping.

"What...what did you do?!" the purple Organic asked.

"Mechanicals are known to have fits like this every so often," Simian dismissed with a casual wave of her hand. "He's a big baby, that's all. I'll write you a pass to the nurse's office..."

"He's hurt!" the Organic cried. "It doesn't matter what caused it. You should take it seriously! You're a teacher...Don't you _care_ about your students?!"

"Whatever..." Simian groaned.

Robot made a small noise as he fell unconscious, tumbling into pitch black. As he retreated further into his mind, he saw a ghost-like vision of his four-year-old self, wandering around aimlessly with glittering tears in his eyes as he searched for somebody. The rabbit toy dangled haphazardly from his claws.

"Gizmo..." he bleated, desperate. _"Gizmo!"_

He realized how many times he'd been yelling his cousin's name lately, just how much comfort he derived from the older Mechanical's presence. It wasn't just a vague memory calling out the name now...It was Robot himself; his eyes slowly slid back open, searing white light pouring in.

And someone was holding him, hugging him as he cried into their shoulder. Sniffling and trying to regain his composure, Robot peeled away from the embrace. Where he'd been expecting to find Gizmo show up out of the blue, instead here was a complete stranger. That purple kid from the playground.

At first, Robot was struck with embarrassment; what a horrible first impression short circuiting must have been. Yet, the kid was smiling, his eyes showing concern.

"Who's Gizmo?" he asked softly, rather than the obligatory "What's wrong?".

"My best friend," Robot replied back softly without thinking.

"I'd like to meet him someday," the other kid said. "He sounds like a nice guy."

"He is," Robot agreed, smile growing.

"Hey, wanna hang out at my house after school?"

Robot's eyes widened.

"I promised to help you build that TV, remember?" he prompted brightly.

Robot mulled over this for a long moment. Part of him was protesting, the part of him that hadn't trusted anybody or anything since he'd started hating his brother Gart. Yet, a larger part of him felt drawn towards this strange, incredibly kindly stranger; he actually gave a crap about Robot, and they didn't even know anything about each other.

"Okay!" Robot responded, surprised by the cheerfulness in his voice.

"By the way..." the taller kid mentioned as he fumbled with the straps of his suspenders. "My name's Monster."

"I'm Robot," he replied, extending his claw. "It's nice to meet you..." He chuckled lightly and smiled as Monster grabbed his claw and they shook hands. "My new cathode-ray TV-building partner in crime."

"Happy birthday..._Gart_," Robot groaned, leaning against the door frame of Gart's room.

"Why...thank you, Robot!" Gart said with mock humility.

Robot rolled his eyes and watched as one of Gart's classmates polished Gart's head with satin cloth; dollar bills poked out of the Organic kid's back pocket and he stuck his tongue out in concentration. A red Mechanical girl stood off to the side, eyes wide and hands clasped. The lovesick puppy expression on her face was enough to make Robot's stomach churn.

"Robot...be a good brother and polish my wheels?" Gart pointed at his treads, wearing a devilish smirk that could be a dead ringer for Bricklin's.

The girl stepped forward, smiling and pulling out a pink handkerchief, but Gart put up a hand and shook his head at her. Groaning, Robot rolled into the room, arms folded and beligerent. He was about to ask the girl to borrow the hankie, but Gart wagged a warning finger at him, his mouth quirked up at the side.

"My wheels are delicate," Gart explained. "_Very_ delicate." That's when he reached towards his mahogany vanity table and drew back, holding a tooth brush. "Use this."

"That's..._my_ toothbrush!" Robot protested.

Gart just smirked. He snapped his fingers and ushered the cluelessly giddy girl forward. Then he handed her the toothbrush and she dived to the floor with a manic smile; Robot's eyes bugged in horror as she started scrubbing the metal cover for Gart's front wheel vigorously. A small cloud of dust billowed up and off, making Robot's heart drop to his wheels. His distaste only made Gart grin, a thin-lipped interpretation of the classic Cheshire cat.

Clenching his claws, Robot turned and rolled away down the hall. He hadn't been allowed to attend any family parties since he was six anyway. What real difference did it make that he was about to miss yet another one? Scoffing, he looked up at the ceiling.

Gart was Bricklin's mini-me, a demon that haunted Robot simply for even _existing_. Yet, despite the siblings' open animosity towards each other, Robot wouldn't put it past Gart to be expecting a present from his baby brother regardless. Muttering cuss words under his breath, Robot lifted one of his wheels and pulled off some random, disgusting tidbit.

There, Gart's _perfect_ birthday present. Robot chuckled to himself under his breath.

Brief victory aside, Robot shuffled into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Bitterly, he thought about how Gart got a big bedroom with a vaulted ceiling and enough room to fit his ridiculously frivolous oil bath and gold fountain.

And then here was the youngest Default, living in a vacated closet space that used to hold Arpa's party dresses. It was a small closet, too, barely large enough to fit Robot's hand-me-down and battered bed with only inches between the mattress and either wall. Plus, his parents hadn't even bothered to remove the metal pole; though, crafty Robot used it as a makeshift means of holding his plastic toolbox and other various tools on tiny hooks.

Realizing he was the male, metal version of Cinderella, he groaned at the envy was starting to peck at his insides. He blew out an exasperated breath and rolled towards his newest attempt at an invention that was haphazardly propped up against the wall: a spinning metal sphere with spare, originally defunct, blinking lights attached to it. When Robot finished, the final incarnation was supposed to be what he considered a "modernized" disco ball.

He reached towards one of his tool boxes, rummaged around and pulled out a wrench. Yet, despite an intense desire to start working, he just couldn't get himself to. Angry thoughts clawed at him, followed by unmitigated hatred towards Gart. If only he could get himself to start thinking in terms of numbers, measurements, tools; just general mechanics technical jargon. That was the only time he really, honestly felt-

There was a sudden series of loud scratching and fumbling noises.

Alarmed, Robot turned towards the one tiny window in his room (Arpa used to enjoy looking out at the gardens while she looked through her dresses for some strange reason). There was Gizmo, looking victorious as he forced his tall, thin frame through the obviously too-small opening. Yet, he managed, laughing obnoxiously and floundering like a fish out of water once he hit Robot's bed.

"Gizmo!" Robot hissed.

Gizmo looked up, wearing a cheek to cheek grin. "Ro-bot!" he cheered. "Robot! Robot!" The older boy was barely able to contain himself as he rolled up off of the bed and dived at his cousin. Both rolled awkwardly across the floor, crashing into various items and Gizmo laughing like a maniac.

"_Gizmo!"_ Robot barked.

"Robot!" he gasped. "I'm. So. Happy!"

"Could you get off of me?!" Robot complained.

"Sorry..." Gizmo muttered as he cautiously stood up. Despite being only eleven, Gizmo already towered at an impressive six feet tall; the poor fellow had to hunch over slightly to even be able to stand upright in Robot's tiny room.

"Okay!" Gizmo started, clasping his hands. "Lots of good news...I, um, I had my first kiss with Princess Invisible." He stopped, lapsing into a spontaneous giggle fit as his entire face turned red. It took an entire minute for him to regain some kind of composure; Robot just rolled his eyes and sighed, waiting impatiently. For the life of him, he knew Gizmo was strange, but it never ceased to confuse him why Gizmo became so glassy eyed, distant, and euphoric when he babbled about Princess Invisible.

"Just _that_ would have made my century," Gizmo continued, holding up a single index finger. "But...I also made an improvement to the blinking light..."

Gizmo winked slyly as Robot's eyes widened; he knew he had the little Mechanical's full attention now.

"Show me the blueprints!" Robot begged.

Smiling, Gizmo reached into one of his jacket pockets and withdrew a slightly crumpled and torn-at-the-edges piece of paper. Regally, he extended it to Robot and Robot nabbed it, unrolling the document with nimble claws. For several seconds, Robot pored over the document, muttering technical terms and definitions under his breath.

"Gizmo..." he breathed. "This is _brilliant-_!"

"I couldn't have done it without _your_ insight," Gizmo cut him off, sliding one of his arms around Robot's shoulders. "I never would have thought to use a different type of filament, let alone different glass. I found the materials based on our combined ideas and, next thing I know, we've built the prototype for the longer lasting, more durable version of the blinking light."

"Really...?" he asked in a low, whispery voice.

"Yes," Gizmo affirmed in the same whisper.

The implications hit, making Robot's insides roll and rustle like tumble weeds on an open plain. Heart beating more slowly, Robot felt the beginning stirs of euphoria. All he could do was stare more closely at the rudimentary blueprints now, taking closer notice of his suggestions and equations written there in Gizmo's clumsy, but elegant scrawl.

"I could beat Gart for ownership of the factory..." Robot murmured, mesmerized. Then he turned and looked back at Gizmo with wide, shining eyes. "No, we could run The Blinking Lights Factory..._together_..." Robot felt his face stretching, trying in vain to fit his bigger smile.

Where he'd been about to say something else, he stopped, startled by the strangely solemn look on Gizmo's face. Gizmo shook his head, frowning resolutely.

"You're thinking inside the box," Gizmo said, disappointed.

"Are you suggesting selling the blueprints to competition, then?" Robot asked hopefully, wearing an impish smile.

"No!" Gizmo cried angrily, snatching the blueprints away from Robot then.

"What...what is your plan, then?"

"I'm offering these to Gart as a peace offering," Gizmo replied calmly.

"What?!" Robot looked alarmed.

"Robot," Gizmo explained. "I was able to make amends with my parents." He grinned sheepishly. "My custom portrait is going to be unveiled at Gart's birthday party today! I want you to come with me to talk to Gart, share our discovery, and then-"

"That's a pipe dream!" Robot snarled, his eyes shimmering with a different emotion altogether.

"It's worth a-"

Robot balked, shaking his head and raising his claws in frustration. "Gizmo! They _can't_ be rationalized with. All of them believe in Darwinian dog-eat-dog philosophies. The second you show Gart your discovery, he'll take it and claim credit for himself." Robot narrowed his eyes. "Then he'll dispose of you like garbage."

"Robot!" Gizmo protested. Then his shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I know you're already intensely skeptic of the existence of Princess Invisible...but, could you try and put logic aside for a moment?"

From the pained look on his face, Robot could tell that the words were killing Gizmo inside. Every part of him relented; he'd always respected and related to Gizmo when it came to their mutual talent for inventing, but Princess Invisible and Gizmo's "invisible people" had always been a clashing point.

Despite himself, Robot sighed heavily and looked Gizmo in the eyes.

"Alright," he agreed reluctantly.

Gizmo gave a little, hopeful smile. Taking a deep breath, Gizmo began: "Princess Invisible told me that I have 'special eyes.' The best way I can explain it is I have a sixth sense. The last time I saw Uncle Bricklin, it looked like...there was some sort of ghost figure floating next to him. A really sad, kind of depressed ghost figure."

Already, Robot was shaking his head and giving a Gizmo a weird look. "This holds relevance to...?"

"There was another figure I couldn't identify talking to the ghost," Gizmo continued. "From what I could tell...the ghost was who Bricklin _used_ to be. He was talking about how much he wished he could contact either you or Gart through the medium of dreams. If only you could see how broken this ghostly image was...He was _nothing_ like the Bricklin we know..." With furrowed brows, Gizmo looked earnestly at Robot. "I think there's a side to both Gart and Bricklin that we don't know anything about, Robot."

"What else is there to know?!" Robot trumpeted. "They're pure evil. Everyone in the family hates us. End of story."

"Robot." Gizmo leaned in and seized Robot by the shoulders. "This Bricklin wanted to reform the Defaults. He truly hates the man that he is and disagrees with every statue that-"

"Gizmo," Robot growled. "I'm sick and tired of your _stupid_ imaginary friends!"

"Ro-"

"You're really crossing a line here!" Robot cried. "I know you're an emotional, empathetic, and a pretty forgiving guy, Gizmo, but, cut the crap. We both know how irredeemably evil the rest of our family is. You're as insane as they say you are if you honestly believe they're anything but."

"Robot..." Gizmo blinked, his knees shaking.

"What your parents did was absolutely unforgivable, Gizmo," Robot continued, really hammering in his point. "Yeah, they're willing to take you back under their wing because you're successful. But, that's only because they're hoping you'll succeed Gart and I as the new head of the Factory."

He folded his arms. "We have a distinct advantage over Gart by working together, Gizmo. We should take it! They screwed us, now let's _skewer_ them." He rubbed his claws together as Bricklin's sadistic smirk unknowingly snaked onto his face. "All you have to do is stop believing in people that don't-"

Suddenly, Robot powered down, his eyes going dark and his body bending over.

Worriedly, Gizmo watched as Princess Invisible carefully pulled her hand back out of Robot's central processor. She seemed to be a mix between angry and remorseful, her delicate face scrunched up like a stress ball. Sighing, she walked away to stand next to Gizmo, folding her hands behind her back.

Invisible was fourteen, three years older than Gizmo, but shorter than him by a foot and a half. She was a silver Mechanical with pupiless blue eyes, metal shaped to look like hair in a short bob, and had a very petite, but slightly curvy frame.

"Invisible!" Gizmo started to protest in a raspy voice, his eyes a pair of round circles.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, holding up her hands. "I was impulsive. So impulsive. His tone was just...getting to me." She made a strangled noise. "I couldn't take the _insults_ anymore, Gizmo! I know he can't see me, that I should be openminded, but I just-"

Just then, Gizmo silenced her by pressing his index finger to her lips and an understanding look on his face. Invisible let a surprised noise slip out, blushing as he took his finger away and lightly cupped her cheek in his hand.

"We can fix this later," he whispered. "Besides, I know how difficult it is for you. Don't apologize, milady."

"_Now_ is the time you're the mature one?!" Invisible said with a strained laugh.

"It's...probably better this way, anyway," Gizmo admitted, heavy reluctance in his voice.

"I don't know..." Invisible folded her arms, looking extremely guilty. "He has every right to be angry with them. I know I _hate_ your family with every fiber of my being for what they've done to you..." She sneered slightly as she directed her gaze at the floor.

"But you saw Damien," Gizmo pressed, wearing his trademark cherubic smile. "You even saw the difference between his aura and Bricklin's!"

"Gizmo," Invisible sniffed.

"I'm willing to try to make a deal with Gart at least," Gizmo persisted. "I have to. It'd be the only way I could talk to Damien. Let him know that somebody in this plane knows he exists."

"Gizmo..." Invisible shook her head. "How can you be so trusting?"

"I'm not," he said solemnly. "This is a flat-out gamble. I'm putting _all_ my cards on the table."

Tears were sparkling at the edges of Princess Invisible's eyes. Gently, she reached out, took her visible boyfriend's hand and squeezed it tenderly.

"I'll be by your side the entire way," she promised with a slight waver in her voice.

Robot felt slightly disoriented as his systems started to reboot. A major case of deja vu overtook him as he regained consciousness, the first thing he saw being his own reflection in one of the lights on his disco ball. He noticed his heart beating, his wires humming as if he'd been under major emotional duress recently.

The thought train cut off when he heard sudden commotion from the hallway. Immediately, Robot rushed towards his door and threw it open, adrenaline spiking like a thunder clap as he scanned the hallway for an unseen assailant. Instead, a pair of burly security guards were rounding the corner.

Robot's heart dropped to his wheels.

And in-between them, clutched by one giant fist each, was Gizmo, wrapped up in white sheets and a mask adjusted snugly over his nose and mouth. With each loud, echoing step of the guards, Gizmo fidgeted less and less. When the procession passed by Robot, Gizmo could only shoot a hopeless, despondant look.

Robot shook his head, continuing to watch the receding backs of the three figures until he couldn't see them anymore. Until he was staring at the blank wall at the very end of the hallway. Numb, Robot rolled out into the hallway and extended his claw, reaching out in what felt like an incredibly feeble gesture.

Suddenly, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. When he turned to look, there was Gart. But instead of looking smug, Gart looked rattled and slightly unnerved.

"How did Gizmo get into the house...?" he asked.

Robot didn't respond. He couldn't; he was still stuck on the fact that he was never going to see one of his closest compatriots ever again.

"I'm glad that he's going to be locked up," Gart reported coldly. "It's _unnatural_ to insist that you can see and hear invisible people..."

"That's what I thought," Robot said quietly as tears started in his eyes.

"Also, Robot. I told Mom and Dad to let you come to my party."

For a brief second, Robot flashed back to one of his most rare memories:

Dad had found out about Robot's treasured plush rabbit. Now, the taller Mechanical looked like a towering and intimidating demon, a sneer on his face and fists on his hips. He looked impatiently at Robot. Even though Robot knew he had to, he couldn't. He just couldn't.

Feebly, he held the plush closer to his chest and whimpered softly. Dad groaned, reaching down in a move to snatch the toy away. Before he could, Gart appeared out of nowhere, wedging himself in-between Dad and his younger brother. "I'll take care of this, Dad," he suggested.

That smirk that sent shivers running up and down Robot's spine crawled onto Dad's face. "Alright, Gart," he conceded. "Just as long as that ridiculous rag gets incinerated."

Robot bit down on his lip, watching anxiously as Dad's large form retreated into the distance. Now he feared what Gart was going to do. Groaning, Robot hugged the plush close to him one last time, subconsciously trying to squeeze all of its' meaning into one final, lasting memory.

A strange look was on Gart's face as he turned to face Robot.

"Hide the rabbit," Gart instructed in a curt whisper.

Robot's eyes widened; he remained silent, blinking and curling his lip in utter confusion.

"I won't make you get rid of that stupid toy," Gart outlined in more clear-cut terms. "Now, go hide the stupid thing..._before_ I change my mind."

A weird gust of affection stirred in Robot's chest for a moment, but just as quickly as it had come, it died. The look on Gart's face alluded to the exact reason Robot would suspect Gart would ever let his younger sibling come to a family event. Let alone his personal _favorite_ party of the year...

Every part of Robot, inside and out, burned as he sat motionless in Gart's 'special guest' chair. What a joke; Robot could swear that when nobody was looking, Gart looked over at Robot with a shark-like smirk and then snickered sophomorically.

A seeming eternity of boring party guests clinking glasses and complimenting each other on how perfectly cold and indifferent they were passed. Then Bricklin clapped his hands. The sound was so loud, everybody turned and looked over at him. Two hapless interns struggled as they dragged a wooden podium over to where Bricklin was standing. They scrambled to get away when Bricklin cleared his throat; personally, Robot couldn't blame them. He wished he could run away that easily...

"I have a very special announcement!" Bricklin trumpeted, gesturing a smug and superior acting Gart towards him.

"My son, Gart, has found a foolproof upgrade to the blinking light!" Bricklin said as he held up a slightly crumpled piece of paper.

For some reason, that paper looked extremely familiar to Robot. He strained forward in his seat, craning his neck in a vain attempt to get a closer look.

"For his obvious cutting-edge innovation, I'm handing over ownership of the Blinking Lights Factory," Bricklin announced, pulling an official-looking document out of his jacket pocket and handing it to Gart.

Time seemed to slow down to a creaking slow motion as Gart greedily palmed the document and then held it above his head victoriously. Robot stopped trying to figure out why the document was familiar; he just toppled over in his chair. As he crashed to the floor, the memories came back to him, rushing like water from a floodgate.

It was an omen that Robot's now spreadeagled form was pointing towards...Gizmo's eccentric portrait. He just stared at those painted eyes and exaggerated smile; inanely remembering Gizmo telling him that he kept his brain in a jar made of special glass, so as to protect it from some weird electromagnetic wave in the kingdom Invisible originated from...

As he lay there, Robot felt himself starting to short circuit. Polite applause struck him like a volley of bullets; images of Gizmo unjustly trapped in a padded white room rolled through Robot's mind. Letting out a long, exaggerated breath, Robot let himself fall into the pitch black of unconsciousness. The farther he fell, the more cynic he found himself becoming. Evil had triumphed yet again in his miserable life. There were no bright or optimistic things that he could think of.

Like a slap to the face, when Robot had completely left the physical world, he still couldn't seem to escape reality. He was sitting across from Bricklin, but here, Bricklin was a ghostly, sort of translucent form. There was a deep, brooding sadness in his posture, expression, and overall demeanor. For a brief moment, Robot wondered if it wasn't Bricklin he was looking at, but a bedraggled and depressed older version of himself instead...

"Robot!" the figure cried out in a voice that was definitely Bricklin's. "Robot...I'm so sorry...More sorry than I could express..."

The words sounded sincere, the stuff of what Robot had in his sweetest, most meaningful dreams. Though, despite how much he wanted to give in and accept the illusion, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he glared daggers at the figure.

"Fuck you."


	6. Chapter 6: Darwinian Evolution

6: Darwinian Evolution

Somebody suggested I write as an emotional release;

it defies every logical circuit I possess,

but these feelings are so strong, they burn me,

sear me to where I could melt from the inside out

1084 Celsius and rising

Stop incinerating me so, Lucy

I've already tried to love an ice elemental,

but all I got was frostbite, inside and out

I was so cold, all I wanted was warmth

The sweet light of a single candle flame,

a crackling fireplace on a winter's night

Instead, I was thrown into a volcano,

and every day, more magma rushes over me,

the Devil's cackling, blistering brook

tearing me apart sprocket by sprocket,

down to my measly copper molecules

The elements adore pricking me with

the ends of canine teeth and toothpicks

1084 Celsius and rising

Stop incinerating me so, Lucy...

...you're making _me_ want to incinerate _you_

-Robot D. Default

Before now, Robot had never really paid attention to girls. They just...existed. Then again, he'd never participated in the ridiculous, archaic "war of the sexes" common amongst young children either. Those dribbling thoughts started to recede more and more, though, as Robot just _stared_ at her...

Lucy. Lucy Vanderbilt.

She was a year younger than him and she'd skipped a grade. Every time she spoke, her vocabulary was a verbal reflection of just how intelligent and mature the bright pink Mechanical was for her age. She was quiet and reserved, preferring to be by herself or reading some thick text book. The first time Robot caught sight of the girl carrying a book on theoretical particle physics, or more specifically, the God particle...

That was exactly when he'd first discovered that tingling sensation. The feeling that Gizmo used to _rave_ about.

The thought of discussing theories and inventing with her made Robot explode like a supernova inside, but he just couldn't get himself to talk to her. Sighing heavily, he wondered how many times Monster had approached Lucy on his behalf by now. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Robot turned to look at Monster: the big purple guy looked content as he sprayed glue everywhere and sloppily stuck frills and other various Valen-Crisp Day related bits to a folded piece of construction paper. Monster haphazardly slapped his palm into a pile of sequins, sending them flying and sparkling. He turned to Robot with a wide, cheeky smile.

"Why don't you make Lucy a valen-crisp, Robot?" he suggested.

Frowning, Robot just looked over at her; she wasn't even participating in making Valen-crisp cards. She was using the available construction paper as a means to draw some kind of blueprint. Not a bad idea, Robot mused to himself. Normally, he'd be doing the same, but he was too caught up in weird feelings lately to focus...

"She doesn't seem like that kind of girl..." Robot replied with a stupid, lopsided smile.

"You don't know that!" Monster said brightly. "Just give it a try. It'd be a good icebreaker!"

Robot rolled his eyes and rested his chin on his claw. "It's cheesy..."

"My dad gets my mom a bouquet of roses every year on Valen-Crisp Day and she _loves _it!" Monster countered.

"Mrs. Krumholtz also tends a garden, visits the greenhouse every weekend, and told us countless times she wants to be a part-time florist after she retires," Robot replied, rolling his eyes. "Your dad is just basing a gift on common sense!"

"Well, there you go!" Monster was undeterred. "Find out what some of Lucy's interests are and give her a gift based on that!"

"Well..." Robot was at a loss for words, just blinking and considering while Monster looked at him with shining eyes. "I guess it's worth a try..."

Shyly, Robot got up from his desk and walked the ten feet or so towards where Lucy sat. With each footstep, he could feel his heart beating a bit more quickly: fluttering rapidly like the wings of a hummingbird, then stopping for the space of a breath, then starting again.

When he was barely a foot away, he didn't even have to say anything as Lucy looked up from her book. Her face was a mix between confusion and skepticism; Robot liked to think that she was just shy or incredibly socially awkward like he was.

"Hey," he tried, embarrassed by the way his cheeks instantly turned fire engine red.

"Hello," she said in her quiet, reserved way.

"You're reading a book about the Higgs boson...?" Robot started with a meek smile.

"Let me guess," Lucy said, a slight edge to her voice as she marked a place in her book. "You're about to make some insipid comment and then have a laugh about it with your friends?"

"Not at all!" Robot replied, shaking his head. "I...wanted to discuss the theoretical implications behind it with you is all. As in...how it'll complete the Standard Model. How it could be used to revolutionize nuclear powered technology..."

As soon as he started using technical jargon, Robot noticed that he'd hooked and lured Lucy in like a fish. She was smiling, a cute accent to her curious expression.

"And here I thought I was the only one with a brain around here..." Lucy mused.

"Tell me about it!" Robot agreed, chuckling.

Lucy blew out a breath. "Everyone here is a complete and total moron," she continued, eyes closed. "They all follow the teachers blindly, worship physical prowess like it's heaven sent." She sighed. "I've been keeping a calendar at home, eagerly counting the days until I get out of here. Until I can get to college, where I _belong_..." She opened her eyes again, frowning in a contemplative way. "I could be attending college right now, if my parents weren't completely delusional. Thinking I should get a chance to interact with my _peers_." With that, she snorted derisively.

Robot didn't really know how to respond. In a way, he agreed with pretty much everything she said; it was like they shared a brain. Yet, at the same time, he disagreed. Monster had proven to him that he should take his ever-growing cynicism with a grain of salt.

"Do you think physicists will ever discover the Higgs boson?" Robot asked, wanting to steer away from a discussion about clashing philosophies.

"Hmmm..." Lucy thought about it for a long moment before shrugging. "It's a sound theory, but sometimes I can't help thinking it's just wish fulfillment on the part of particle physicists. Think about it: The principles the Higgs boson is based on is the cementing, definitive concept that would prove the Standard Model correct."

Robot shook his head. "It's not wish fulfillment; it's crucial. The Higgs' existence has been proven..."

For the next half hour, Robot was absolutely thrilled by how easy it was for him to talk to Lucy. She was the first kid he'd ever met and didn't feel a nominal difference with in terms to intellect either. On a few topics, they seemed to clash, arguing with each other, but it was...stimulating. Engaging. Electric. The conversation only ended with the loud, obnoxious clattering of the school bell.

When Robot looked over at the clock on the wall, it was 3. Kids were eagerly scrambling out of their desks and stampeding like wild animals towards the door; the teacher joined them, galloping like a mad horse, his face stretched into a manic grin.

"Robot." Lucy took Robot's attention away from the dispersing crowd. "Sit by me again tomorrow."

It wasn't a request, but a demand. The little girl was smiling, but Robot wasn't quite sure how to interpret it. All he knew was that he was becoming unwillingly aware of the fact that he had a crush on Lucy again. With a smile of Gizmo-esque proportions, Robot simply nodded.

"Adieu, mon ami," Lucy said with a wink and a small wave.

Monster materialized out of thin air next to Robot as he watched Lucy leave the classroom.

"Looks like the plan worked!" Monster encouraged with gusto.

"Yeah..." Robot was wearing a silly smile. Knowing how goofy he must appear, Robot silently cursed how easy it was for his emotions to morph his face like silly putty.

"Wanna go to the Makin' Bacon to celebrate?" Monster continued. "We've got to tell-"

"I'm _not_ telling Nessie!" Robot complained.

"Okay, okay..." Monster looked dejectedly at the floor, but then popped back up smiling. "You didn't tell me_ I_ couldn't!"

The big purple Organic started running, laughing as he went; Robot was hot on his heels, angry at first, but it was hard to stay angry. Outside in the sunshine, Robot was laughing, reveling in seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses.

"Happy eleventh birthday, Robot!" Monster said happily.

"...thanks, Monster!" Robot called out, sounding kind of distracted.

There was a strange coincidence to Robot's birthday being February 13th, one day before Valen-Crisp: the day he'd first worked up the nerve to talk to his now girlfriend Lucy. He was absentmindedly pawing through a calculus textbook that had various dog eared pages as he tried to figure out what he should do. Part of him felt like it'd be incredibly unnecessary to commemorate this date, yet at the same time, he really wanted to do something special for Lucy.

_That's what happens after hanging out with the Krumholtz family for so long..._he mused with a wide smile.

"_Robot!"_ Monster groaned.

Robot turned around and smiled apologetically. The very moment he was facing Monster, a clear glass bowl had been shoved in his face: it was filled with small blue rocks, swaying green and turquoise plants, and a tiny plastic gray castle. A bright orange goldfish was swimming about everywhere, darting in a bunch of different directions as it eagerly explored. Suddenly, it stopped and swam towards Robot.

Two wide, curious eyes peered up at him, almost as if the fish knew that Robot was observing it.

"Cute new pet, Monster," Robot commented.

"He's your birthday present!" Monster replied brightly, planting the bowl on top of Robot's textbook. "As soon as I saw him at the school Valen-Crisp festival, I knew he was special. And I just _had_ to win him for you!"

"That was very thoughtful of you, Monster," Robot said, lightly patting the bowl and smiling at the tiny fish. "But...you know my parents' policy on pets..."

"Even a _tiny_ goldfish?"

"They're _that_ strict," Robot sighed, rolling his eyes. "Plus, Gart might try and flush the poor little fella down the toilet..."

That comment made Monster lunge towards the bowl and wrap his arms around it in a protective hug. He shot Robot a worried look, his eyes a pair of upside down almonds. "Maybe we should just keep him here?" Monster suggested.

Robot thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Good idea. I come over here often enough, anyway!"

At that, Robot could have sworn he saw the fish smile up at him. Cinching his claws at his sides, he looked away nervously.

"So...what are you going to name him?" Monster prompted.

"Sprocket?" Robot said with a shrug.

Monster groaned and shook his head. "Sprocket doesn't fit."

"It's _my_ pet-" Monster shook his head more fervently this time. Robot harrumphed, folding his arms, then taking a closer look at the fish now. To his utter surprise, the fish raised one of its' tiny fins and waved cheerfully at him.

"I'm seeing things," Robot cried, somewhat distressed. "I could swear...I just saw that fish _wave_ at me."

"He waved at me, too!" Monster said, his face showing how hard it was for him to contain his excitement. "That's how he stood out from all the other fish!"

This made Robot muse for a long second, rubbing his chin contemplatively. Then, in a flourish, he raised a claw in a gesture reflecting the light bulb going off in his head.

"Darwin. His name is Darwin," Robot announced with a growing smile. "He's obviously a very intelligent fish, more evolved than others of his species. So, why not name him after the father of evolutionary theory himself?"

Despite Darwin not knowing what Robot was saying, he was smiling in such a happy way it gave eternally optimistic Monster a run for his money.

The last night they'd spent together before Lucy's strange, extended absence played in Robot's mind:

The two sat side by side on Lucy's cream colored couch. As usual, neither one of her parents were home, due to both of them having very busy and obscenely demanding jobs.

Tonight, they were watching a documentary on gene splicing and DNA. For some reason, Robot couldn't help his thoughts shifting to Darwin: he was once again musing over how Darwin had somehow traversed that unknown rung in the evolutionary ladder. He was at that beginning threshold of consciousness, the next step being the discovery of...abstract thought.

The realization made Robot's eyes bug and something incredible occurred to him: What if he could artificially create a means to help Darwin evolve that much farther than he already had?

"Robot," Lucy said in a hushed tone. He turned and looked at her, watching as she started tapping the remote button to turn down the sound on the TV. Frowning, Robot turned and tried to figure out what the hidden intention was behind the cat-like eyes and smile on his girlfriend's face. He couldn't imagine what Lucy was thinking that she found more interesting than the documentary they'd just been watching. Actually, if he were being honest with himself, he just didn't want to lose track of his recent epiphany.

"We've been dating for two years now," Lucy continued, stating the obvious in a sugar-laced tone.

"Yeah." Robot felt an involuntary shiver as she leaned in towards him and placed her claw gently on his upper arm.

"I...I've been doing some research lately," she admitted sheepishly, her face starting to turn red. "On kissing. It's supposed to be a stress reliever. In Organic males, their overall levels of Oxycontin increase, which also leads to stronger bonds between them and their partner." Their faces were only millimeters apart now.

"Mechanicals, both male and female, _mutually_ benefit," Lucy whispered, her face a bright red tomato now. "Kissing stimulates the same chips that short circuiting does. Only, it sends an electric current representational of pleasure or joy."

Robot smiled, blushing as furiously as she was. "You want to test this theory?"

She nodded simply in response.

Despite Lucy being the one to start things, Robot was the one to gently place his claw behind Lucy's neck and tenderly steer her face towards his with his other claw. He tilted her chin downwards slightly as he leaned in, lips puckered. A short gasp of surprise from Lucy, then their lips met.

Whatever theory Lucy had read about was proven correct: Robot could feel almost every wire in his frame humming, tiny electric pops and currents singing with bliss. Every part of him was filled with the sunshine of a bright morning and other small miracles of life as he slowly started to pull away.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw how starstruck he was mirrored in Lucy's face, from the way she kept rapidly blinking to her mouth in the shape of a small "O." After that, they turned away from each other; Lucy turned the sound back up and they watched the rest of the program in silence.

At one point, though, Lucy reached out and slid her claw over Robot's. The Mechanical equivalent of an endorphin rush seared through Robot when their claws slowly and subtly linked into two connected circles.

The otherwise sweet memory had been gnawing at Robot's insides since he'd started seeing the fliers advertising the upcoming school dance hung up all over the school. Usually, the feeling was pretty easy to quell, since a flier for the science fair was right next to the one for the school dance...

Robot had been busy for weeks, poring over biology manuals, magazines, everything he could find.

Over the past two months, Robot had become infatuated with the thought of progressing his pet fish Darwin's evolution. Robot couldn't continue pushing his other feelings of unease aside, though. His new obsession with Darwin had partly flourished from how distant his relationship with Lucy had been lately.

On chance, Lucy was rolling down the hallway; her face was hidden behind a neatly folded set of blueprints. Pangs and longing tugged at Robot's heart strings: all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and ask her about her day. That a hug would be enough to wipe away the recent, disorienting alienation. Yet, he also felt like the gesture would be inappropriate without at least some kind of "I'm sorry" or some form of explanatory dialogue.

When she was right in front of him, Robot nudged a section of the prints down, just enough so that she could see him. Of course, she was glaring daggers, her lip pulled back in a slight sneer.

"Hey Lucy," Robot said gently, her glare sending a shiver down his spine.

"Robot!" she barked. "Leave me alone."

"I've 'left you alone' for an entire month now," Robot snapped petulantly.

"Well, it's getting close to crunch time!" Lucy argued. "I need _every_ spare moment to be prepared for the science fair."

"You're competing against baking soda volcanoes and mediocrity," Robot spat. "You could bring in the first invention you ever made and you'd still be eonsahead of everyone else."

"What about _you_?" Lucy replied, sneer intensifying. "I noticed _you_ poring over notes and research. I could throw the _same_ accusations at you."

"I...never stopped to think about that," Robot admitted, his heart sprouting wings and taking off. As the thoughts piled up and rolled, Robot became nervous and kind of fidgety..._He'd be competing against __Lucy?_

"You'll be the toughest competition I have," Lucy said bitterly. Her eyes narrowed, pupils glittering like the sparking ends of freshly lit dynamite. "But, just for your information: I _intend_ to win."

Robot frowned, feeling a huge lump form in his throat. Part of him was ready to back out of the competition if only to see Lucy calm down, while another was morbidly curious to see how he'd match up to her intellect. Several more seconds passed and the longer he was pinned under Lucy's glare, the more excited Robot became by the prospect of competing; followed by a slightly rebellious hope that he'd win.

"This ought to be pretty interesting, then," Robot said, the traces of a smirk starting on his face.

His reaction made Lucy gasp and harrumph. "You're _not_ going to win."

"That's for the _judges_ to decide!" Robot gibed, using the extensions in his wheels to bring himself to Lucy's level.

"I meant to do this about a month ago," Lucy said suddenly, lowering the blueprints as she leaned in towards Robot. Their faces were only millimeters apart when she whispered: "We're done."

"What?!" Robot squawked, rocking backwards and falling to the floor. His extended legs snicked painfully back in place. Now he was on the floor, claws braced on either side of him on the cold tile. Lucy just smiled in a superior way, relishing in looming over his prostrate form.

"Having a relationship with someone close to my intellectual capacity was, enlightening, to say the least, " Lucy replied with a casual shrug. "But, hormones are a distraction I'm not willing to entertain right now..."

"_Lucy!" _Robot cried, hating the slight whine in his voice. "We-"

Lucy cut him off with a curt wave of her hand. "I need to get back to work."

"Lucy!" Robot grunted angrily, getting her to look back at him. "We were just starting to get closer to each other! I thought that's what you wanted...Why does a competition mean you have to turn your back on everything we've had? Everything we _could_ be?"

Lucy grunted, squeezing her eyes shut, then pinching the nosepiece between the frames of her glasses. Then she opened her eyes again, more fire and brimstone than she was before. "How can you be so _selfish_?!" she cried in a hissing whisper.

"Me? _Selfish?!_" Robot laughed sardonically. "_You're_ the one that pulled a disappearing act."

"I need to put my all into this competition," Lucy replied. "We're on an even playing field, Robot. I'm not letting whatever affection I hold for you muddy my goals and ambitions."

"How would your emotions stop you?" Robot argued, folding his arms. "_I'd_ still love you if you defeated me. I might be kind of bitter, sure, but we're equals, aren't we? I...had this image in my head that...we weren't just romantically involved but...intellectual equals..."

A hammer cracked Robot's heart with each confused and shocked expression that creeped onto Lucy's face. When he reached the words "intellectual equals", she was shaking her head, making disapproving clucking noises.

"We can't technically be equal, Robot," she chastised, voice like steel. "One of us would always be the superior one-"

"Fine," Robot sighed, slapping his arms against his sides in defeat. "Fine. Throw our love away in a garbage bag..."

With a harsh sigh, Lucy rolled her eyes and returned to looking at her blueprints. Robot didn't even watch her go; he was filled with so much bile and fury, he swept through the halls right towards his locker. Then he wrenched it open and ripped down every picture he had of Lucy taped to the inside of the door, crumpling them all into crude balls.

It was just Robot's luck that Monster showed up then, carrying Darwin's fish bowl. Monster had a smile the size of the moon, but it progressively turned the other direction the closer he got to Robot. The smile had been completely wiped from his face when he looked at Robot's now bare locker door, then at the crumpled balls on the floor near Robot's wheels.

Unbidden, Robot felt tears starting in his eyes; he turned and leaped up into his locker, letting out a long and low primal scream. When Robot finally pulled himself out, Monster helplessly offered the fish bowl to him.

Robot watched Darwin: the little fish was looking up at him with naïve, curious eyes. The proverbial light bulb went off in Robot's head and a slightly menacing smirk stretched across his face.

"_You're_ my new science project!" Robot declared, grasping both sides of the bowl and leaning in until he was at eye level with Darwin.

"You can't do that to Darwin!" Monster objected, reaching for the bowl.

"Monster." Robot swung away from Monster's outstretched arms, hugging the bowl close. "You know that extensive evolution research I've been doing? _That's_ what I'm talking about."

"Uh..." Monster was still rigid and tense; he was obviously unconvinced.

"A walking, talking fish will be the _perfect_ way to show Lucy what's for!" Robot said to himself, chuckling sinisterly. "You'll be more than just a regular goldfish, Darwin. You'll have traces of shark and piranha DNA. Be _superior_...No one will dare to mock you or take you down, because you'll rule over them all with an iron fist. Fear shall be your-"

"Robot?" Monster sounded concerned as he reached towards his friend. "I won't let you turn Darwin into a Frankenstein monster."

"He's _my_ pet!" Robot snapped. "He'll come to his master's aid and defend him from his enemies!"

"No!" Monster howled, glaring at Robot. "I've been keeping this to myself, but, I think it's creepy what you want to do to Darwin. He's perfect the way he is!"

"Piranha teeth can tear Mechanicals down to being nothing but core bits of wire and copper."

"Robot! I hate it when you get like this..." Monster shook his head. "Will you just talk to me about it?"

"What?" Robot groaned.

"What happened with you and Lucy," Monster pressed, getting straight to the brass tacks.

"I don't wanna talk about it..." Robot grumbled.

"Remember what Mr. Small said," Monster interjected. "You shouldn't keep your feelings bottled up! It's unhealthy."

"Fine." Robot uttered a few crass cuss words under his breath. "Lucy broke up with me. Just a few weeks ago, we had our second anniversary. Then, she breaks up with me because I pose a _threat_ to her in the science fair?!" His face an angered bull's crimson, Robot grunted and clenched his claws. "She valued our love as much as she would a piece of fucking toilet paper...!"

"Watch the language!" Monster complained, pointing at Darwin.

"_Fuck_ Lucy!" Robot trumpeted spitefully, eyes narrowed.

"Mom would make you wash your mouth out with soap..." Monster shook his head. "Try looking at things from-"

"_No,_" Robot seethed, eyes narrowed. "_I'm_ right. _She's_ wrong. End of story."

Today was the science fair.

Robot looked helplessly at Darwin as the tiny fish scuttled about in the bowl. Ever since Robot had foolishly revealed his intentions for Darwin, Monster had been standing guard and keeping an incredibly watchful eye, whether Robot was just in the same room as the fish or was feeding him. In secret, Robot had been adding experimental substances to Darwin's fish flakes, intending to induce subtle evolution. It wasn't enough; Darwin looked and behaved the same as he always had.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Robot looked over his shoulder: Monster was still asleep, facedown in his pillow and snoring something fierce. Fifteen minutes until school started and Monster was just _starting_ his REM cycle. Typical.

Robot rolled his eyes and popped open his front hatch, intending to pull out the special fish food in a last ditch effort. Blindly, he reached for it, but found something else instead. Slowly, Robot withdrew an old and incredibly faded and worn plush rabbit. The longer he stared at it, memories started gushing and swelling into a parade of emotion. It was intense, so much so that Robot let out a low series of hitched, struggling breaths. Immediately, he threw the plush aside and shuddered, returning to his original task.

"Please work, please," Robot begged as he shook fish flakes into the bowl.

He watched with wide, rounded eyes as Darwin eagerly dashed towards the flakes...

"Robot!" Monster prompted in that stern tone Robot had come to despise lately.

"IwasjustgivingDarwinbreakfast," Robot cried in a blundering rush.

As Robot turned to face Monster, he frowned at his best friend holding the discarded plush.

"What's this?"

"Nothing!" Robot cried, a slight waver in his voice. "Just an old toy. Throw it away!"

"I've never seen it before..." Monster mused, studying it. "I wouldn't throw it away if I were you." He turned and shot Robot a sideways knowing look. "Why don't you save it for our new future sister?"

"I'm not giving her a dirty rag like that!" Robot spluttered, trying to hide that he'd forgotten all about the new, upcoming addition to the Krumholtz family.

"It's sentimental," Monster said gently. "That means more than something shiny and new..."

"It's...not sentimental," Robot admitted in a dark tone, feeling the beginning prickles of tears. "Looking at it only reminds me of how much I _hated_ my childhood."

"You're _still_ a child!" Monster protested, worried. "And...you were happier than you've been in years."

"I'm not giving that piece of shit to your sister!" Robot howled. "After I get through how depressing and horrible today will be...I swear I'll invent something just for her. Just don't give her that stupid toy, please."

"Alright," Monster said evenly. "Do you need to talk?"

"No!"

Monster sighed heavily and shook his head. "I'll tell Ms. Simian you went to go see Mr. Small..."

"I'm _not_ talking to the hippie," Robot groaned. "He's practically an older, hairier, and uglier version of Barney the Dinosaur...I'm sick of his 'sharing is caring' and touchy-feely BS, too..." Robot snorted and looked at Monster. "I prefer talking to you or Mr. and Mrs. Krumholtz. You guys give _good_ advice instead of just spewing out trite, hallmark card sayings. It's just..." He sighed again. "I don't feel like talking right now."

"I'm sorry, Robot. You've just been angrier and more upset over the past month than you've been for awhile now...But, I'll give you your space." Monster seemed extremely reluctant in saying that last part, but he fudged a reassuring smile nonetheless. "Just know I'm here to talk if you feel like it."

"I know..." Robot sighed again, then managed a small smile. "Thanks, buddy."

There was a long beat of silence between the two, Robot shifting his gaze from Monster's face to the walls behind the tall purple Organic and then back.

"Are you _sure_ you wanna throw this away?" Monster asked suddenly, waving the toy.

"No..." Robot whispered, clenching, then un-clenching his claws.

"I'll keep it in a safe place, okay?"

"Just...don't let me see it," Robot finished, purposefully casting his gaze towards the mauve carpeting.

The science fair had been set up in the school's giant gymnasium. Most of the kids were hanging out in the bleachers or chasing each other, screaming and delighting in not being confined to tiny desks for the day. Only the nerds, geeks, and other scientifically inclined pre-teens were really participating in the event.

As Robot had predicted, most kids had the stereotypical baking soda volcano; some had fairly out-of-the-box ideas, though, from simple gyroscopes and static electricity generators to slightly more complex inventions in the form of medium-sized catapaults and otherwise. Of course, Robot wasn't surprised in the slightest that almost the entire room's population had congregated around _Lucy's_ booth. He could see that smug, satisfied look on the twelve-year-old girl's face from across the room.

Blowing a raspberry, he poked at his pathetic back-up invention: a small, toaster sized block with a hole on top. When he switched it on, it produced a tiny hologram of an Aurora Borealis. Lucy's favorite natural phenomena. Just that thought was enough to make Robot want to take a hammer to the device and smash it into as many indecipherable bits and pieces as he could...

"Your invention's a shoo-in for second place!" Monster said, rather unhelpfully.

Robot turned and stared at his oblivious best friend, giving him the stink eye.

"Geez...what are you taking things out on _me_ for?!" Monster cried.

"_Second_ place?" Robot scowled.

"You're a great inventor, Robot, but it'd take _a lot_ to beat a time machine..."

"_Now_ you're being a realist?!"

Before Monster could say anything else, the judges showed up: Ms. Simian, Mr. Small, and an older Mechanical scientist. Simian looked bored, her lips pulled back over her teeth as she made a series of obnoxious sucking noises. Only Small and the scientist were giving Robot's box a thorough scrutiny and inspection.

"Stable structure," the scientist commented with an encouraging nod. "You definitely have a great grasp on the concepts of simple structure and design. I can appreciate that alone."

"It's...a nice tribute to minamalism," Small added with a very sheepish smile.

That made Robot roll his eyes. It made no sense that the one guy in school with the most radically left view of the world had been put in charge of judging for the _science _fair; he'd be much better suited for an abstract art competition. Yet, on the same token, Robot couldn't help the slight smirk tugging at the side of his face. He switched on the invention, watching with utter amusement as the hippie's eyes became a pair of glowing, shining marbles.

Violet, bright green, pink, and yellow light floated upwards and outwards, creating a gently billowing and whisping ribbon. The effect was soothing and peaceful; almost enough to calm the tsunami of rage prickling and scraping at Robot's circuitry.

On impulse, Small reached for the blue first place ribbon and slapped it to the side of Robot's invention. "Absolutely inspiring, Robot! You've singlehandedly created the one device that can bridge science with-"

"Very nice," the scientist cut off Small. "It has potential. On a larger scale, it could be used to create displays and layouts for classes, museums...Lots of real world applications. At this scale, I can easily see this becoming as well known and beloved a novelty as the lava lamp." He took out the second place ribbon and neatly pinned it next to Small's first, then shot Robot a wide, grandfatherly smile. "Ms. Simian? Your thoughts?"

Both men looked at Simian expectantly; she just raised an eyebrow and stopped picking at her teeth. Groaning, she approached the table and leaned in close, staring at the miniature Aurora Borealis. For a second, she seemed to be utterly captivated and fascinated. The colors reflected in her irises; Robot was holding his breath, watching as she reached for one of the ribbons on her own clipboard-

Then the tiny box exploded with a muffled _whoof! _in a small puff of charcoal gray smoke. The baboon woman blinked a few times as the smoke cleared; her face was covered in anonymous grot. Metal shards had plunged into her shoulder and cheek; there were cuts across her cheeks.

Nervously, Robot bit down on his lip. Hard. His eyes grew bigger and more round the longer Simian remained silent.

"You're a _horrible inventor_, Default!" she shrieked, her voice reverberating and echoing across the gym. Everybody's faces turned then, simultaneously, and looked at Robot with laser pinpoint irises; Simian fainted with a warbly moan and both Small and the scientist ripped the ribbons out of the leftover wreckage.

Numb, all Robot could do was watch the men's retreating forms, the school nurse rolling Simian over and earnestly searching for a pulse in the older woman's wrist. "You gotta be more careful, kid!" she snapped.

Robot was vaguely aware of Monster's hand on his shoulder, the reassuring words the taller kid was muttering getting lost in the growing buzz of discussion from the other kids in the gymnasium. As if on cue, Lucy rolled up as the nurse carefully started dragging Simian's unconscious form away. Lucy was a different Mechanical than she'd ever been before: Her level of smug was so thick, it was almost a physical force; she even had a pair of cronies now, the two of them whispering and snickering to each other. Claws on her hips, she smirked condescendingly at Robot.

"I can't believe I ever saw you as being anywhere close to my level..." she spat.

"Mr. Small gave me a first place," Robot challenged, rolling up towards her.

"Please!" Lucy scoffed, folded her arms, and rolled her eyes. "He gives anybody a gold star for wearing tye dye and making up imbecilic, nonsensical haikus."

"Time machines are generic and overrated!" Robot growled. He could feel his entire frame and chassis starting to hum with anger. Just looking at Lucy's narrowed eyes was enough to make him want to scream until he broke his voicebox.

"They're also a gigantic step forward in developing technology," Lucy countered. "People have wondered if it would be possible to travel back in time since the first Mechanical was hand built. Of course, I still have a lot of work to do and the current model is just a prototype, but being able to send even a piece of fruit through space and time is far more impressive than a box that creates a tiny hologram."

Robot sneered. "Holograms have a more practical use than a _time machine_ does-!"

"_My apple_ just became the item rumored to inspire Sir Isaac Newton's theory of relativity," Lucy snarked, eyes a pair of slits. "In a sense, you could call _me_ the mother of Newtonian physics."

"That's going off of an incredibly obscure-"

"I wrote the mathematical notation for Newton's gravitational theory on the side of the apple," Lucy bragged, holding up a claw in a faux regal pose.

For some reason, the tone of her voice both infuriated and attracted Robot all at the same time. His face slowly turned a deeper and more vibrant shade of red. Each color transition made Lucy start smirking, the side of her mouth quirking up more and more. Lightning struck Robot's heart, making him shake and rattle like a struck lightning rod. This new feeling was so bizarre; his circuitry and wires were heating up.

Impulse flaring up, he knew he had to do something...to _sate_ whatever this beast was.

"I hate you so fucking much!" he gasped, grabbing the neck of Lucy's purple turtleneck and levering himself to her eye level. Her pupils were distressed bowling balls as he leaned in and attacked her lips with his own. Tears squiggling out of his eyes, he went all out: his tongue snaked into her mouth and he dumped months worth of unexpressed passion into the way it chased hers.

Several times, Lucy tried to pull away, making several strangled, muffled noises. But as the kiss continued, it felt like she was relenting. Her arms seemed to reach for his shoulders for a moment, fingertips lightly brushing his cheek. That small touch; it was all he'd craved for so long now. To Robot, it was as if an angel had swept him up in her wings and was taking him to heaven. Slowly, he reached up and let go of Lucy's turtleneck, placing his palms on her cheeks instead.

If he just spent the rest of eternity kissing her, she'd realize her mistake, wouldn't she? That'd be when she pulled away, smiling; they'd be the only two people left in a barren, empty world. And that's all they'd need. That's all they'd _ever_ need. Or, that's just what it felt like to be in desperate, seeking, _yearning_ love...

Gasping, he could feel his entire body rallying with the growing, unbearable onslaught of short circuiting. As he started to crumple to the floor, his lips slid away from Lucy's; he felt a strange satisfaction in knowing his lips were covered with her saliva. So many germs, but right now, Robot didn't care. He could die happy right now, sinking in this overwhelming sea of utter euphoria.

Monster's voice bellowed in his ear as he fell unconscious; Robot sailed into darkness with a stupid smile on his face.

That night, Robot was locked up in his tiny bedroom. He just lay on the mattress, spreadeagled, breathing in a rhythm. Shadows from the trees outside slipped in through the window, creeped over him, then danced back into the collective darkness of the room.

Vaguely, he wondered how Darwin was doing over at the Krumholtz house. Any other day, his parents gladly let him stay the night there; anything to get him as far away from them as possible. Tonight, he was their prisoner, confined to what he'd dubbed "the Cinderella dungeon." Moments later, as if that thought was her cue, the door opened, revealing Arpa the evil mother figure.

The chaotic, clashing parts of a Bach fugue started to thunder in Robot's mind as she wandered into the room; her typical pearls bounced and bobbed gently against the upper part of her chassis, creating a drastically serene visual contrast to the angry music in Robot's head.

"Robot," she addressed, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

"Hi Arpa," he said, glum.

"Your father says you're hereby banned from participating in the school science fairs," she said bluntly. "Also, you're to be transferred to a new middle school by next week."

This made Robot shoot up like a rocket. He'd been exhausted both mentally and emotionally, but this new information was enough to get him stirred and riled up again. Taking a deep breath, he got up and off of his bed, approaching his mother with an angry, rebellious look etched onto his face; Arpa didn't even flinch.

"Is that your solution for _every_ time I mess up?" he groaned. "Banning me from everything?"

"I'd think you'd learn by now," Arpa chastised, tapping her arm. "You're thirteen years old, Robot Damien Default. You should know how to properly conduct yourself in public: you're supposed to be cold and indifferent at _all_ times."

"No," Robot replied, shaking his head. "No fucking way."

"Don't talk to me that way!"

"Why shouldn't I?!" Robot shouted. "I'm only treating you with the same amount of respect you ever gave _me_!"

"Do you want to face the same fate as Gizmo?" Arpa retailiated, her tone as cold as dry ice.

"Yeah," Robot seethed. "I _dare_ you."

The words had leaked out without him meaning to. Only a few moments after the fact, when Arpa's expression fell, did he realize exactly what he'd brought upon himself. Glaring, Arpa approached Robot and grabbed him by his shoulders, shaking him a few times as her pupils glowed with coals and embers. Then she stopped, her lip pulled back in a full-out leer.

"You _will_ listen to me," she demanded. "Do as I say. Trust me, you'd prefer _my_ wrath over that of Bricklin."

"No!" Robot spat. "You're both equally terrible parents. Just disown me. Do it, I dare-"

"Ro-bot!" Arpa hissed.

"Ar-paaaa!" Robot hissed back, making a show out of sticking his tongue out, and spraying spit into her face.

"Robot!" she cried.

"End my torment, _Arpa_," Robot baited. "End _your_ torment. It'd be so easy. Terribly eas-"

Arpa let out a long, low noise, her eyes squeezed shut. When she opened her eyes again, she wasn't quite as angry as before, but still irritated. What really struck Robot, though, were...tears at the edges of her eyes? No, it was just a trick of the light.

"I don't want to disown you," she said, her voice cracking. "I know bringing up Gizmo was a lowball move, alright? I just wish you wouldn't drag the family name through the dirt..."

"Forgive me for _not_ believing you."

"Look," Arpa said in a breathy voice. "Your father, Gart, you, and I make up the main branch of the Default family. It'd look really bad for us to just...let you go like that when you're not a _completely_ lost cause. Believe it or not... your father used to be _exactly_ like you."

Arpa had Robot's attention now; he looked at her like she was crazy.

"He had the exact same creative and rebellious streak that you do," Arpa admitted, her face flat. "But...he changed after you were born. He _had_ to, Robot. As do you. For the sake of the Default family as a whole, I'm demanding-"

"Somebody like me...could take over the factory?" Robot asked in utter disbelief. "Why...why did Dad change? If he was just like me and he took over the factory-"

"The competition would have crushed him otherwise," Arpa snapped curtly. "The business world is dog-eat-dog, Robot. If you think we're bad, it's for a reason. Everything I've ever done _has_ a reason."

"Poor reasoning if you ask me," Robot said bitterly. "You don't have to be a monster to get by in this world, Arpa. The Krumholtz showed me that kindness and caring for others does have a place in the world. They may not be as rich or as successful, but I'd be a Krumholtz over a Default any day."

Arpa took a long breath, then slowly blew it back out.

"Well...that's _not_ an option for you," she stated. "You're a Default. You always _will_ be a Default."

"I know we both wish that wasn't the case."

"You have no idea what I _really_ think, Robot..."

"I can guess..."

"If it means anything to you, I'm not the one who decided you couldn't be in science fairs anymore," Arpa finished. "I'm _not_ very excited about sending you to a different middle school, either. Just think about that for awhile..." She folded her arms and looked at him with laser beam eyes. "_I _plan on sending you to a boarding school effective immediately. You'll be able to come home once you've learned to be cold and indifferent."

With that, she turned and exited the room, slamming the door to Robot's bedroom behind her. He stood in the darkness, staring at the light coming in through the outline of the door. Even though he knew he should be angry, he wasn't.

As a matter of fact, his heart was beating a calm, steady tattoo...A single tear ran down his face and cheek that he didn't even bother to try and wipe away.

"How's your little sis?" Robot asked with a small smile.

"Great!" Monster replied cheerfully on the other side of the phone. "Mom's already getting stuff to teach her to talk. She said her first word yesterday!"

"What was it?"

"Your name!" Robot could hear the wide smile in his best friend's voice over the phone. "Mom was working on the family photo album with Globitha and telling her about everybody in the photos. Of course, Mom didn't really expect to her to pay close attention, but she definitely was. When Mom was showing her your school picture, Glob glommed onto your name and it's the only word she's been saying since!"

"I wish I could be there to see that..." Robot said sadly.

"Me too, Robot. Me too...Hey, it's almost two. Don't you need to get to class?"

"I'm skipping today," Robot admitted.

"What about your plans to have a solid 4.0 GPA in high school?" Moster protested.

"That was before I discovered I'd be stuck here awhile longer," Robot said, voice heavy as lead. "I promise I'll find a way to get home by Baconmas, though...I've even been drafting different plans for inventions I want to give you guys!"

"I'm looking forward to it," Monster said cheerfully. "You really should go to class, though, Robot. I know it's tough, but-"

"Goodbye, Monster," Robot sighed, ending the call.

Grayish blue waves lapped against the white sandy shore. Big clouds loomed overhead, promising rain; just one more strong, sheet of rain in a series of neverending downpours. Like every other day on the coast, the world outside of the window of the dorm room looked like a photo that had a grayscale filter applied to it.

Sighing, Robot looked at the phone again; it was lying a few feet away from him, facedown on the bed. His _only_ connection to Monster in this place.

There was a light knock on his door...Robot groaned; it was probably the headmaster coming to shoo him from his room. Somebody must have noticed he wasn't in class by now; not being three minutes early to class was considered incredibly unorthodox around here. Plus, _somebody_ was missing getting to laugh at him derisively for his continual failure to be perfectly cold and indifferent. _Somebody_ wanted to rub it in his face how much better his rival Lucy was than him.

The thoughts chased each other like fallen autumn leaves as he got closer to the door:

"You know your inventions are nowhere near the technical efficiency and level of Vanderbilt, right? So, why do you continue taking inventing classes?...Lucy's your rival? She's a _god_ compared to you...No wonder your parents sent you here...Too bad I'll have to give them a negative report...Are you sure you're related to the Defaults?...Gart was never _this_ pathetic."

His mind repeated quotes he'd heard various different teachers and students tell him over the past two years. All of them were said in Ms. Simian's voice for reasons he couldn't identify; perhaps it was his mind reminding him that he used to only have _one_ teacher where the hatred between the two of them was mutual rather than the ten or so there were now...

When he finally opened the door, his heart fell to pieces. Of every person he'd expect to find there, here was the _worst_ offender: Lucy herself.

"Robot..." she said softly.

"Go away," he replied with weak anger, getting ready to shut the door in her face.

To his dismay, she was able to overpower him, pushing open the door and letting herself in. She closed the door behind them with a soft click. Scents of freshly cut roses filled the air, making it hard for Robot to think. As his mind started sinking into cotton candy fluff, he vaguely remembered telling Lucy how much he loved smelling the rose bushes in Mrs. Krumholtz' garden...

"It's almost Valentine's Day," Lucy mentioned, arms folded behind her back.

"Yeah..." Robot scoffed. "So?"

"Isn't today your birthday?" she asked with a small smile.

"You...actually remember that?" Robot laughed. "Funny. I didn't think you knew anything about me-"

"Your favorite color is black. You have a pet fish named Darwin. You hate your parents..." She looked sheepishly at the ceiling. Then she pulled out a large stereo, pressed a button, and "Wonderwall" by Oasis started playing.

For a moment, Robot was surprised and caught off-guard, but it quickly submerged in a growing bout of suspicion. He rolled towards Lucy and raised himself to her eye level, glaring heatedly.

"You obviously want something," he groaned. "Whatever it is, you're not gonna get it."

"I didn't think so," Lucy replied with a sly smile. "It doesn't mean I can't try."

"Get out," Robot sighed, exasperated.

Instead, Lucy closed the gap between their faces and started kissing him. It was a swift, simple kiss. When she pulled away, Robot shot her a bewildered look, shaking his head.

"After all this time and all of those contests...?" He laughed sardonically. "That ship sailed a _long_ time ago, you pathetic bitch."

"I'm not the outsed black sheep and failure inventor," Lucy countered, grabbing Robot by the shoulders. "I'm a _successful_ inventor with three major achievements under my belt. _I'm_ close to discovering the secrets of time travel..."

With each word, she pushed him across the tiny room towards his bed. He gasped as she tackled him to the sheets, pressing her frame down on top of his. So much of him was ready to resist, but he'd just been so tired and depressed lately, he couldn't fight her off. As daunting as this new task appeared, he'd have to fight off Lucy with his words.

"So, what reason does her royal Highness have to come chasing after _me_ if I'm so _beneath_ you?!" he gibed sardonically.

"I've been keeping avid tabs on you," Lucy remarked, bringing her face in until they were only millimeters apart again. "I saw those schematics for a cold fusion generator, Default. You need a major distraction, because I won't let you one-up me."

"You just can't stand the concept of being in my dark corner can you?!" Robot barked. "I feel _nothing_ for you. I _hate_ you. And I relish the thought of you being in my place: a pathetic and lonely _loser_."

"I hate you!" Lucy shrieked. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't burning with such intense, fiery-"

"Shut up," Robot growled.

Insides burning, he leaned up and kissed Lucy full-on the lips. Visions of every time she'd won and subsequently leered at him rattled through his mind. Driven by envious anger, he slid his tongue into her mouth and wrenched himself upwards, wrapping his arms around her neck. Lucy was so startled by the fact they were Frenching, Robot was able to flip them over so that he was the one on top now.

Lucy fought back; her tongue was fencing with his and she was forcing him to roll back over. They were floundering in a side embrace when the ferocious anger started melting like ice, rising like a fiery pheonix as it transformed into a different set of feelings entirely.

Something primal erupted in Robot like a volcano; he pulled away from Lucy and howled in an animalistic way. He wanted to say something, but instead, he launched towards her and led her into a passionate make-out session. The weirdest part was how easily Lucy relented, how she seemed to submit to every one of Robot's moves. Tongues a pair of intimate tango partners, Robot held her so close, their bodies were pressed up against each other. Driven by instinct, Robot knew they had to get closer, that there was another boundary he could break.

No hesitation, he lifted Lucy's shirt and pulled open her front hatch, then snapped open his own. Gears and hardware he hadn't even known he had stirred to life, filling his body with a deep, satisfying hum. He was pressing his form against Lucy, their foreheads touching as their internal hardware seemed to probe and search the innards of the other. Wires humming, some of Lucy's deepest, most personal thoughts relayed back to Robot via electrons flowing through a wire.

She moaned softly, her head rolling forward into the crook of his shoulder. "Stop it..." she whimpered.

Loins aflame, his eyes shot open; Lucy fell back and away, pulling her arms away and become a spreadeagled form on the mattress. Both were blank faced and confused for a moment. Then Lucy started turning red, mouth opening, then closing. When she closed her eyes, it was a subtle symbolism akin to raising the white flag of surrender.

Blowing out a breath and looking off to the side, Robot reached up and closed his front hatch. He pulled himself up off of Lucy and rolled to the side, laying next to her now. Sighing softly, he grabbed one of the blanket rolls at the foot of his bed and nudged it up over the two of them.

Unexpectedly, Lucy adjusted herself, then shifted her position until she was closer to him. Both started falling asleep, Lucy's arms wrapped around Robot in an uncharacteristically tender embrace.

Rain pattered lightly against the window outside. After a two hour nap, Robot and Lucy were lying across from each other, frowning skeptically and staring at each other. Inside, Robot felt a drunken giddiness, but despite how wonderful the hormone and electric current dump was, he still felt tiny zings and pangs of guilt.

Confirmation that they'd done the deed hung silently in the air between them. In a way, it felt appropriate and that it would have happened eventually, yet at the same time it was awkward and had that label of "shouldn't have happened at all..."

Lucy broke the silence: "Why do your inventions always spontaneously combust or explode?"

"Yeah, my failure is _exactly_ what I want to talk about right now," Robot groaned.

"Your draftsmanship is excellent," Lucy went on, frowning studiously. "Your math is always accurate, too. Right up to carrying the little numbers..."

"Thank you," Robot murmured, taken aback by Lucy actually..._complimenting_ him?

"The problem lies in the way you approach building and constructing your inventions," Lucy went on, not skipping a beat. "For example, that portable teleporter you invented last semester. You used steel for the basic frame. Matter deconstruction and recreation is incredibly unstable; in your blueprints, you made a side note telling yourself to stay away from potentially magnetic substances. You should have used titanium. Then your incorporation of magnets wouldn't have backfired like it did."

"_You_ used all the titanium," Robot argued.

"Did you originally think to use titanium?" Lucy countered.

"No...," Robot admitted, irritated.

"Another example: your attempt at creating a working hovercar," Lucy tread on. "You used wood for the frame-"

"Wood is lightweight," Robot interjected.

Lucy groaned and rolled her eyes. "What did I ever see in you?!"

"I could say the exact same about _you_," Robot cried. "You're condescending, elitist, self-serving, obsessed with winning to the point you'll make lowball moves and do _anything _to get your way..."

"You're getting as pretentious as that pseudo-intellectual, extremist liberal psychologist back at Elmore Junior High," Lucy muttered, folding her arms.

"Can't take criticism, can you?!"

"Neither can you," Lucy replied, returning his smug look. "Alright, if you get to analyze and pick at me with a poorly construed set of basic psychological principles: You're stubborn, prideful, short-tempered, and, at your very worst, you hold terrible grudges. You can never let _anything_ go; you usually end up plotting revenge."

"That last part is _so_ rich!" Robot laughed. "This, coming from the girl who broke up with me out of the misguided notion that I'd distract her and keep her from succeeding."

"It's called self-preservation," Lucy said matter-of-factly.

"You're so full of shit!"

"You can't seem to hold a conversation with me without using crass words." Lucy smirked. "How low brow."

"Why can't you connect with people on a realistic level, Lucy?" Robot pressed, looking her directly in the eyes. "You refuse to trust anybody. You only do something with an ulterior motive beneficial for you and you alone..."

"What we just did was mutually beneficial physically," Lucy countered, looking down and blushing.

"That's a good point, I guess..." Robot leaned in towards her. "That was so impulsive, though."

"I know," Lucy whispered, cringing. "I'm _so_ ashamed of myself..."

"Same here..." Robot blew out a breath, then smiled devilishly. "Can't say I'm entirely displeased, though."

Somehow, their conversation stopped being about insulting the other and condensed into the pleasant, civilized conversations they used to have. Robot reveled in being able to talk about science related things again with somebody who actually knew and understood the concepts and terminology without him having to spend two hours describing a basic tenet. After awhile, Lucy's ice queen facade had melted entirely. He was surprised when she slowly, subtly cuddled up to him, her arms wrapped casually around his neck and shoulders.

"...that's why Nostradamus can be proven wrong so easily," Lucy was finishing up.

"Why is it that you love proving people wrong so much?" Robot asked.

"I thought we were done taking pot shots at each other...?"  
"Alright, I'll level with you," Robot replied. "We'll share what we both think was our personal worst invention!"

Lucy snickered; Robot rolled his eyes. "Lucy, your God complex is showing..."

"I'm curious," Lucy admitted. "What _do_ you consider your worst invention, Default?"

"That Aurora Borealis machine I made back in seventh grade..." Robot sighed. "It was my back-up plan. I had something _a lot_ better in store."

"I liked that one, personally," Lucy replied with a benign smile. "I'd definitely buy a working one. Plus, it's always such a treat to see Small act like a slackjawed idiot around pretty colors."

Robot blushed and tried to ignore the silly smile creeping onto his face. "Now _you_ have to answer."

"Fine," Lucy harrumphed. "When I was in seventh grade, I tried to create an artificial cross-breed between a goldfish and a puckerfish...I was planning on it being my birthday present to you." She smiled sheepishly. "It...worked, but the fish creeped me out so much I couldn't bear the thought of how you'd react. So, I gave it to one of the booths at the school Valentine's Day festival. I feel sorry for whoever won that fish..." She cringed visibly.

Monster stood at the curb with his Uncle Kuffley. He nervously kept his eyes peeled to the street, scrutinizing every car that passed by. Some of the drivers were giving Monster weird looks by now, but Monster's anxiety overrode any need to be polite and mannerly.

It'd been close to two years since he'd last seen Robot: The quirky orange Mechanical had missed so much: Globitha transforming from a tiny, writhing blob into a little 1-year-old girl with Mom's gorgeous copper red hair. Watching Darwin, inexplicably, increase in size; the little guy even transitioned from a tiny bowl to a bigger one.

The thoughts made Monster look down into the rectangular shaped tank he was holding. Darwin swam towards the bowl's opening, putting his tiny fins on the edge and looking up at Monster with those wide, child-like eyes. And, he broke out in his trademark smile, the one thing besides Globitha that'd been able to make Monster himself smile in the past year or so.

Kuffley cleared his throat. "Monster...you told him two o' clock, right?"

"Uncle, he'll be here! Just be patient."

"I'm really close to getting a promotion at the station," Kuffley spouted. "Being late will ruin my chances..."

"I told you it'd be a long drive for him," Monster brought up.

Kuffley just folded his arms and grumbled incoherently as he shook his head.

Sighing, Monster looked back down at Darwin again. As if sensing his discontent, the little fish swam towards one of Monster's hands and kissed his finger.

"You've always been such a sweetie," Monster commented, smiling sadly. "Now I can..._almost_ see why Robot wanted to see what would happen if you evolved into a full-blown Organic."

"He...wanted to do _what_?"

Monster looked up at Kuffley; the older man looked incredibly unnerved. One of his eyes was visibly twitching. "There always was something a bit...off about that kid."

"Robot's always been a very unique and creative guy, Uncle Kuffley," Monster protested. "He has good -"

"Good intentions pave the highway to hell," Kuffley returned, a grave look on his face. "What you just described, Monster, it's a crime against nature..."

"I didn't let him do it, okay, Uncle Kuffley?" Monster backpedaled.

"Good!" Kuffley growled. "We don't need anymore twisted, evil freaks out there."

"Robot's not anything like that!"

"Boy, is he lucky to have a friend like you," Kuffley snickered, shaking his head. "I would have dumped him at the curb with the trash by now."

"Do you...dislike Robot?"

Kuffley made a low, grunting noise. "I'll be honest with you, Monster: He's not a bad kid. But something about him always rubbed me the wrong way..."

"Robot told me about schematics he was making for a machine that could make bacon balls-your favorite!-the other day over the phone," Monster said slyly, his mouth quirked up at the side. "He said it was going to be _your_ Baconmas present-"

Kuffley laughed. "Alright, alright...Monster, I'm not telling you he can't be your best friend. I trust _you_ and _your_ judgement. I just don't like Robot, okay?"

So much of Monster wanted to start arguing, but the thought dropped as a beige, wood-paneled sedan rocked up near the curb. Monster broke out in a wide smile as the passenger side door was kicked open to reveal a little blue cat kid.

"Hiya, mister!" he said, ears perked up and tail twitching. "I'm Gumball."

"Gumball!" An older, female blue cat rounded the car in quick, agitated steps. "What did I tell you about talking to strangers?!"

"It's the guy advertising the pet fish, though, Mom-"

She cut him off, lowering to his label and talking to him in hushed, frantic tones.

Much to Monster's chagrin, he heard Kuffley give a low catcall. Biting his lip, he turned to face his uncle, grimacing in utter embarrassment.

"Now_ that_ fine lady is worth being late," Kuffley whisprered conspiratorially with a wink.

"Do you know how inappropriate you're being?!" Monster hissed.

"I'm not hurting anyone by simply looking, am I?" Kuffley countered, smirking.

Disgusted, Monster made an exasperated noise then turned back to the mother and child. Despite himself, he took a closer look at the older woman: She was definitely around Kuffley's age, but that wasn't discernable at first glance; she was pretty in a Plain Jane, doting mother way, wearing a white Polo and jeans that adequately complemented her slim frame. The fact he was thinking this embarrassed Monster more than his uncle secretly checking the woman out; his cheeks colored in with a light pink.

Gumball approached the fish tank, doing the first thing any absentminded little kid would: He pressed his face and paws against the glass. Any other fish would get freaked out and swim away, but Darwin swam up to the glass instead, smiling and spinning. Then Gumball made a stupid face and Darwin mimicked it; Gumball reeled away from the tank, falling to the sidewalk in a fit of laughter.

"So...what do you think of Darwin?" Monster asked curiously, smiling.

Gumball popped back up from the ground, grinning ear to ear. "I like him already!"

"I think he likes you, too," Monster said, giggling. Darwin swam up towards the other edge of his tank, leaning out as far as he could and grinning back at Gumball, eyes wide and shining. "Just so you know, Darwin's four-years-old, likes fish flakes, and loves being read Shakespearian poetry before bed."

"Poetry...? Bleh. Poetry's for _nerds_..." Gumball groaned.

Monster just laughed. "Well, you'll just have to get over that, Gumball. Because you're _officially_ Darwin's new owner."

Slowly and gently, Monster handed the tank to Gumball. Gumball's mother leaned over and held out her own hands in a ready-to-catch gesture. As Gumball looked at his new pet with excited eyes and made nonsensical comments, his mom shot a thankful look at Monster.

"I can't thank you enough!"

"No problem, Mrs. Watterson," Monster said, blushing happily. "I'm just glad I could find such an enthusiastic new owner for Darwin. I hope he brings Gumball lots of joy and fun times! He's a _very_ special fish."

"MONSTER!" Robot yelled, a huge smile on his face as he scuttled up the Krumholtz front drive. _"MONSTER!"_

Right before he reached the front porch, Monster threw the front door open and came running out. Laughing, he tackled Robot to the ground and they rolled, starting up a friendly wrestling match. It ended with Monster giving Robot a big, friendly hug.

"This is the best Baconmas ever!" he shouted.

"You don't know that, yet..." Robot laughed.

"It doesn't matter what happens next," Monster replied. "My best friend is finally back home. That's the _best_ Baconmas present I could ever hope for!"

"Same here, buddy," Robot said, smiling wide. "I did get you a present, though."

Monster gasped, letting Robot back away. "Unfortunately...my inventions exploded," Robot admitted with an awkward laugh as he started rooting through his coat pockets. "I got the second best thing I could, though!" He held up a huge ball of freshly picked, glittering bacon. "All-natural, _organic_ bacon! Straight from the farm!"

More greedily than he intended, Monster ripped out two strips of bacon and shoved them into his mouth; he started chewing and moaning in utter delight. Laughing in a good-natured way, Robot popped one of the pieces into his own mouth. Nostalgia of the afternoons he'd spent first getting to know Monster back in elementary school came to mind; how Uncle Kuffley used to treat them to bacon from the bacon truck. The grease, the texture...Just everything overall was so _perfect_!

The thought was at the very forefront of his mind as a tiny purple figure came hurtling out the front door. If Robot had been full of holiday cheer before, his mind was blown now. For the first time, he got to meet Globitha. The little girl was hugging his arm, her face buried behind a long curtain of red hair.

"Merry Baconmas, Robot!" she yelped.

"Same to you, Globs," he said, pulling her off his arm and into a hug. "I'm glad I _finally_ get to meet you!"

Globitha giggled, then pecked Robot on the cheek. Blushing Robot smiled as he tried to put the toddler down, but her arms were wrapped around him in a vise. Groaning, Robot lowered his arms and slapped them against his sides, rolling his eyes. Monster came to the rescue, gently prying Globitha away.

By now, Mr. and Mrs. Krumholtz were outside along with Uncle Kuffley. The Krumholtz parents ran towards Robot and, unexpectedly, enveloped him in yet another giant hug.

"We missed you, Robot!" Mrs. Krumholtz cooed, nuzzling her cheek against Robot's. All Robot could do in response was blush furiously. He was bursting with so much happiness and love, it was overwhelming.

"Cut the love fest already, I'm hungry!" Kuffley grumbled.

"Have some of this!" Robot tossed the rest of the bacon to Kuffley.

Out of the corner of his eye, Robot watched the older man smile, wink, and give a thumbs up. Robot chuckled, wrapping one arm around Mr. and Mrs. Krumholtz.

"I missed you guys, too..." he said softly. "I promise I'll never leave here _ever_ again!"

_One more day...one more day...one more day..._

Cheerleaders linedanced across the stage as confetti fell in a multicolored rain. Some of the teenage boys balanced precariously on their seats, trying to catch an upskirt view. Obvious freshman, already marking themselves as the guys who viewed high school as nothing but a sex conquest.

Pole-O players and other golden boys and girls were the only ones cheering and reveling in the achievement of, potentially, the highest point in their lives. Some of the golden students' cling-ons and cronies cheered, heckled, and hollered as well. Others just made noise for the sake of releasing pent-up hormones, excitement, and frustration. Robot felt like he was the only one in the entire auditorium that was silent, stoic, and cynical.

_One more day...one more day...one more day..._

"_Come on_, Robot!" Monster encouraged, making "stand up" gestures.

Robot just rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust. Several more minutes passed; Robot just watched everybody with bored, livid eyes. He gave himself internal monologue, laced with crass words to accompany the slideshow in his mind.

The preps and jocks started parading onto the stage and smiling as the principal handed them awards:

Octet Stephans: The school's Pole-O star and valedictorian of the senior class. Not to mention, a fan favorite amongst girls from seventh grade all the way through their sophomore year of college.

Robot had been nervous about what it'd be like to be returning to regular high school after a semester at an elite prep school...That feeling felt _refreshing_ in comparison to the fear and terror he felt on a daily basis. Since the first day he returned, he'd had a sniper scope placed on him by box-chested and muscular Pole-O player Octet Stephans.

The guy grabbed him by the antenna, mercilessly wrapping his fingers around and squeezing it. Laughing like a crazed animal, he pulled open Robot's locker and threw him in, slamming the door shut behind him. And then intensely claustrophobic Robot would short circuit and fall unconscious, then not be found for hours after until Monster opened the locker and caught him.

Octet never left it at just that, though. Sometimes he dumped Robot in trash cans, pushing him down until he was drowning in leftover bacon grease and other disgusting refuse. A few times, he'd put some poor nerd's pair of embarrassing boxers on Robot and strung him up on the flag pole. As he hung there, pleading for help, the students just pointed and barked with laughter.

If that weren't bad enough, when Octet started going out with the prettiest girl in school, JD, he started spreading nasty rumors about how he was secretly "sexing her up." In a misguided white knight streak, Robot stood up for JD and called Octet out on his crap. That led to Robot getting beaten up so badly, he was bruised and broken for weeks. His efforts led to JD stepping in on his behalf and beating up Octet, though. From that day on, Octet left him alone and he had a new friend.

He still secretly feared Octet getting a wild hair and starting up his old antics again; the principal definitely didn't seem to be stopping Octet from harrassing other nerds and outcasts. Simply because Octet was the freaking untouchable sports god of the school...

Theresa Maribellow: Theresa was the salutatorian of the graduating senior class. She was the polite and composed woman of few words.

Theresa was a very pretty Mechanical girl, but such a shy violet: covering her voluptuous form with baggy clothes and hiding behind coke bottle lensed glasses. During his junior year, Theresa confronted Robot, blushing and stuttering. "A-are you s-still going out with Lucy?"

"No..." Robot replied.

"I heard that she was your..." Her face was deep red. "...your booty call girl?"

"_WHAT?!"_

"I-I want to take over that role..." Theresa said, licking her lips.

Now Robot was a red pepper, steaming inside and out. Heart pounding loud enough he thought Theresa could hear, he turned away and ran. But that event wasn't the end of it.

Theresa somehow got a hold of his phone number, his instant message name. She messaged him constantly, making it difficult for him to talk to Monster through either medium. Then she started following him everywhere like a lost puppy. Even when he told her not to, she did anyway. A few times she followed him home.

Other students started to think Theresa was his girlfriend. Rumors started and spread like wildfire; Theresa reveled in them, telling Robot that he should just ask her out already. Halfway through the year, she started getting more aggressive: She kissed him when he didn't want her to; she insisted that she be allowed to carry his books from class to class.

It got to the point that Robot brought in Gart on a special favor: Through Gart, he spread a rumor that he and Theresa had broken up. Things backfired on him: _He_ was seen as the bad guy. Even Monster gave him the cold shoulder for the longest time until Robot got to convey his side of the story.

Despite it all, Theresa still pursued him. She didn't stop until she decided that she was in love with somebody else entirely instead. After that, she made a point of telling every girl she could just how horrible Robot was, effectively runining whatever chance he had at a love life in high school afterwards.

Aria Animosi: Aria was the class treasurer and Lucy's righthand woman.

Aria was a stick-thin and mousy Mechanical girl. She was so obsessed with Lucy that there were rumors she was in love with the girl...

Everyday in science class-the one class Robot had with Aria-he found his homework ripped to shreds or tacks scattered across his seat. Then, sometimes he found home-made stink bombs, anonymous goo, or other horrible pranks stashed in his locker. Of course, Aria never admitted to doing any of these things, but her track record as a prankster and pyro in middle school followed her like a ghost.

Whenever Lucy and her entourage passed Robot in the hall, even if Lucy was ignoring Robot, Aria was the one minion that made a display of pulling away from the group and making rude faces at him.

Throughout Robot's sophomore, junior, and senior years of high school, Lucy pretty much left him alone and treated him like background noise; she didn't even notice him before, during, or after science fairs. He'd become a literal ghost to her.

Aria, on the other hand, liked to sneak in and try her damndest to sabotage Robot in every way imaginable. At first, she was subtle about it, but as time went on, she became more and more aggressive. Sometimes, Robot wondered if Lucy asked her to do it and she was just willing to take the fall, or if she did every horrid thing she did simply of her own accord.

Aria ended up becoming more of an imminent threat and enemy to Robot than Lucy was. But, she was such a slippery weasel, he was never able to track her down for even a second. He wished he could call her out and stop her, or better yet, wreak vengeance, but it was pretty much impossible...

By the time the stage was full of these people, Robot's mouth was pulled into a taut line. Every single one of them had some sort of past discrepancy or part in making his high school experience miserable. He was starting to shake violently like a blender set on high. What he wouldn't give to go find a wrecking ball and burst through the brick walls of the high school, then brutally mash some of these people to mushy messes or crackling bits of metal and debris. Then, take several sticks of dynamite and other explosives-

"...the award goes to...Robot Default?" the principal finished saying, the utter disbelief apparent in his tone of voice.

Robot's destructive fantasy stopped; he was biting down so hard on his lip he thought it might fall off. Everybody was looking at him in shock. Only Monster looked happy and bright in a huge sea of disapproving skeptics. "Go on," Monster whispered.

Whispers started as Robot shimmied out of his row and proceeded towards the front of the auditorium. His confidence grew with each step; as soon as he'd mounted the stage, he wished he had moving fingers so he could give all of his fellow peers the middle finger. Instead, he wore a bright and brilliant smile as he took the award and hefted it overhead.

Of course, the entire auditorium had gone deadpan and silent; faces drawn, glaring, bewildered, or confused. But all of that was overriden by the floundering, wriggling form of Monster. The tall purple Organic threw his small bowler hat up into the air and cheered obnoxiously, stomping the floor and carrying on as loudly as he could. Peers and negative reputation be damned.

If Robot's smile had been big before, his face could barely contain how big and wide it was now.

_One more hour..._Robot thought with a burst of optimism as he was enveloped in the bright flash of light from Monster's camera.

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{

**MODERN DAY**

Arpa drummed her fingers on the family chest in a drum-like fashion: _rap-tap-tap-tap-tap_, _rap-tap-tap-tap-tap_...

Robot leaned against the doorframe of his father's office, his insides a churning mixture of anxiety and impatience. His mother was definitely taking her sweet time searching for his birth certificate. It made no sense, considering how little time she wanted to spend with him under any other circumstances; he'd think she'd go a bit faster, anything to get him to go away.

"I'm just not sure if it's here..." Arpa sighed. A few minutes ago, she'd said it was here with nothing but confidence in her voice.

"Dad's always been so anal about organization," Robot replied, not even trying to mask how annoyed he was. "And, of course he'd keep my birth certificate in his personal safe haven."

"I...really don't want to disturb his things," Arpa weasled, looking concerned.

"I just need to see it for a minute," Robot assuaged. "Get the info, write it on a scrap of paper. Then I'm out of here."

"And, you'll make_ sure_ Gizmo stays away from the upcoming baby shower?" Arpa pressed.

"He's probably at my apartment right now..." Robot said, rolling his eyes and exasperated. "I'll make sure he _stays_ there, okay, Mom?"

Arpa sniffed, then delicately pulled open the chest. It took her only a minute to pull out a faded and graying manila folder. For a second, Robot could swear she looked incredibly conflicted; she even started making short, strangled noises in protest. When he reached out for the folder, Arpa actually wrenched it away, holding it just out of Robot's reach.

"I'll read off the information for you," she insisted.

Robot sighed and lowered his arm, shooting her a pointed look. "I just need to look at it for a _second_."

"Your father-"

"Why are you getting so fidgety about this, Mom?!" Robot cried.

Arpa's pupils shrank when he called her "Mom." Her fingers tightened on the manila folder, creating a slight, but noticeable crease. Never before had Robot seen her react like this. Usually, she was the unmovable, icy pillar; the faunt of Default social graces. Yet now, she looked like she'd seen a ghost; her face was even starting to go pale.

"Mom...are you okay?" Robot reached out tentatively, starting to approach her.

Arpa had turned her back to him now. She dropped the folder to the floor as she buried her face in her palms and burst into a sporadic, unexpected burst of tears. Of course, Robot's first reaction was to try and comfort her, but instead, he felt some sort of bizarre gravitational pull towards the folder.

Gingerly, he scooped it up and looked at the rose colored document inside:

NAME: Argus Damien Watterson

"Argus...?" Robot muttered to himself.

DATE OF BIRTH: February 13, 1988

HOSPITAL: Elmore Central

"Is...this some kind of sick joke?" Robot asked as he carefully put the document back in the folder.

Slowly, he turned to face Arpa, caught in between shock and resentment. Any moment now, she'd bring out an eyedropper and Gart would pop up from behind the desk. He could just anticipate it. Any moment now. Yet, as Arpa turned back to face him...she was crying. The tears kept falling and she was struggling to stop the flow.

Any moment now...Robot convinced himself, but his wrapping, boa constrictor intestines said otherwise.

"Alright, Robot," Arpa announced in a resigned way. "I may as well just come out and say it...I'm _not_ your real mother."


	7. Chapter 7: Damien's Rhapsody

7: Damien's Rhapsody

Never before had Robot realized there could be such meaningful weight to words. These were a literal game-changer; no, not just that, a _world_ changer.

Arpa was nervously fiddling with her hands, pulling at her fingers, getting more fidgety than a skittish butterfly. In a strange way, Robot picked up on his ex-mother figure seeming to regress in age and mannerisms; that it wasn't just her new title that made her a different person, but her attitude, reactions, and otherwise, too.

Inside, his intestines were wriggling, loose worms. He was surprised he wasn't short circuiting. Caught between being nervous and flustered, he wanted to run, scream, cry. And yet, the strangest part of all was the strange sense of liberation; that bizarre little chunk of his mind that was cheering crazily.

"Well...who _is_ my real mom?" Robot decided to cut right to the chase.

"I...never met her," Arpa replied, steepling her fingers.

"I could probably find her by the last name alone," Robot mused. "But...I don't know if that was her maiden name or-"

"She was married when she had you," Arpa said curtly. "As far as I know, she's still married."

Robot was surprised by how open Arpa was being. The look on her face revealed she felt the equivalent of getting teeth pulled out, but Robot couldn't quell his curiosity. Nor did he want to.

"Was I...the result of an affair?" he asked, the words feeling like the pointed bits of dropped tacks.

Immediately, Arpa's face contorted into something akin to a more dark and gruesome subject matter found in a macabre Cubist painting. Frowning, she made a few strange warbling noises as she stalled for time. Swallowing, her normally proud and rigid posture deflated, making Robot fear for the worst.

"You...were the result of a one night stand," Arpa explained, her tone hinting at hidden wells of emotion. "At the time, your father and I were in the midst of a trial separation. He took off for Elmore, a town that's not too far from here. And, you can probably determine the rest from there."

Each word hit like a thrown rock. Unappealing mental images rolled through Robot's mind and he shook his head, grabbing at his face with his claws. "Wake up, wake up..." Robot whimpered.

"Robot," Arpa prompted in earnest. "I know this is a lot to take-"

"You think?!" Robot pinched his forehead with his claw.

"Your mother actually tried to raise you to the best of her ability before Bricklin stepped in and...forcibly took child custody."

This made Robot look up; his gaze locked with Arpa's. "That _does_ sound like something he'd do," Robot grumbled. "He probably couldn't stand to face his mistake...Let me guess, he made the woman's life a complete hell after that?"

She was biting her lip harder, regressing further as tears started falling down her face again.

"He tried to," Arpa whispered, voice cracking.

Robot's eyes widened, slightly taken aback.

"Oh, how he tried." Arpa looked incredibly grim as she went on. "He owns the property she lives on; he owns the factory she works at. At first, he tried to pull very subtle tricks on her, like raising her rent, fixing numbers. She did catch on eventually, but he made an under the table deal with her: that he'd stop and leave her alone if she kept her mouth shut about _you_."

"He's _never_ stopped, though. I've tried to stopper him by going behind his back, even so far as outright sending anonymous college bonds and gift cards from an obscure 'Aunt Beatrice'. But, there's only so much I could do. By now, he even has a master plan to foreclose her house and fire her from her job."

"Are you trying to pull the sympathy card on me?" Robot accused suddenly. "I can't believe you'd really care about anybody Dad screws over. It happens so often, they're just numbers to him, and by extension, you. What makes these people so special?" He narrowed his eyes. "Especially when they're the blood relation of the son you _never_ wanted!"

"That's _exactly_ why they matter," Arpa replied in a whispery voice. She looked him directly in the eyes now, letting him see the blinking, frantic circuitry behind the glass; that kind of dysfunction only happened when a Mechanical cried too much, Robot observed.

"Robot..." With a shaking hand, she opened her front hatch and pulled out his ripped picture; the one she used to keep her door in place.

"What are you trying to do?!" Robot replied, voice a dry ice mist. "What trick are you trying to pull, _Arpa_?!" He spat out her name like a bunch of rusty nails, glaring heatedly.

"I don't keep your picture behind my door to support the rusty hinge," she said evenly. Slowly, she started pulling out several more of his pictures, each one of him at a different stage in his life. The middle aged woman was shuddering as she gently pulled out the last one. Unlike the others, this one wasn't a ripped tidbit.

The sharp ends of a pitchfork had been plunged into Robot's heart: Arpa was holding an 8x10 glossy print of him at age eighteen receiving his award. There were a few smudges, but they were unintentional; the photo actually looked like it'd been kept in as decent a condition as it could...after sitting within the inner parts and mechanisms of a Mechanical, of course.

"I keep your picture close to my heart," Arpa finished. "Because I wish, dearly, that you _were_ my biological son. Somehow, despite the odds, you turned into an incredibly intelligent and creative young man. With so much untapped potential..." She smiled in a sad way. "I envy Mrs. Watterson _so_ much."

Arpa lowered the picture. "Her other kids have exactly your kind of spirit. I've...seen them a few times on the rare trip to Elmore. It's hard not to notice, when I see you in everything they do and say..." She laughed half-heartedly, shaking her head. "There's no way you ever could be a true Default beyond just name alone..."

With every new word came a different revelation. Everything happening now was so surreal, Robot could see the splintering lines in the dome of reality. This was a side of Arpa he'd never seen before and despite how novel it was, he wasn't slowly getting to know her secret side: It was like he had a bucket of ice water dumped all over him.

So many emotions reeled within him: he was ensnared in a web of anger, sadness, disbelief, confusion...He felt like a slot machine an addicted gambler refused to stop pulling the crank for. When Arpa finished, he knew he couldn't say she was lying. Despite how cruel and cold she'd always been, Robot could never outright declare her a sociopath like he could with Gart. There'd always been that note of doubt and right now, he knew why.

He kept staring into her wide, shimmering pupils; waiting, wondering if the drumming heartbeat he heard was his own or Arpa's. Finally, he couldn't stand the unseen tension.

"That doesn't excuse you for being an uncaring mother," Robot said solemnly, the words coming out without him even thinking. "Even though you're not my biological mother, _you_ were supposed to be a mother regardless. All I ever wanted from you was acknowledgment, praise. Now, you're trying to excuse yourself, to apologize?" He clenched his claws. "There is such a thing as too little, too late. _You're_ the living definition."

By now, Arpa wasn't looking at him anymore, wouldn't even meet his gaze. Her eyes were directed at the floor, her expression dark. "Just go," she demanded.

"That's exactly what I was going to do," Robot seethed before turning and shuffling away. Not once did he turn around or see if Arpa was following him. Instinct alone told him that she wouldn't. And, after today, she'd probably never talk to him again either.

As he approached the door to his apartment, Robot felt more and more drained. The only thing he wanted to do was go through the door, into his bedroom, then collapse to his bed and fall asleep. But he knew he wouldn't be able to.

He'd been able to hear Gizmo's loud, boisterous chirps and hollering from the end of the hallway. Sighing, he reached out towards the doorknob; he didn't even flinch when the door sailed open. There was Gizmo in all of his bright, enthusiastic glory, grinning idiotically.

"Sane Cousin Robot!" he bellowed. "You're just in time for the wedding arrangements!"

Robot just looked up at him with an exhausted frown.

Gizmo collected Robot up under his arm and carried him into the apartment, unceremoniously slamming the door shut behind him. Part of Robot inwardly cringed at the shaking, unsettled furniture, but he was so tired he couldn't get himself to care right now. Gently, Gizmo propped Robot in a wooden dining chair before rounding the table and seating himself next to Monster.

Warily, Robot looked at the chair directly beside him: It was empty.

He groaned and looked up at the ceiling. "Gizmo...I'm not in the mood for your games right now!"

"But...testing your skeptic, spazzing nature is so much fun!" Gizmo protested with a wide smile.

"Monster!" Robot howled. "Can I talk to you? _Alone?_"

Reluctantly, Monster shrugged and stood up, following Robot as he got up and advanced towards their bedroom. Vexed, Robot slammed the door, then locked it. He even took the precaution to grab his newest sound-blocking invention and attach it to the wall next to the door.

"Are...you okay, Robot?" Monster asked.

"No!" Robot barked, then slammed on the metaphorical brakes as he let out a long, low sigh. "Monster, I'm having the worst day of my life right now. I just wanna sleep it off, pretend it never happened, then get back to my mundane, hapless existence by tomorrow."

"What about Gizmo and Princess Invisible?" Monster pressed. "I told you-"

"-that you planned on getting him pardoned from the institution," Robot finished, letting out a sharp breath. "That some dream you had about an alien emo made you start thinking about how ethical it is for Gizmo to be locked up in the asylum. Blah, blah, blah..."

"No need to get so snippy!" Monster cried, feeling defensive.

"I'm sorry." Robot looked down at his treads. "Just let me sleep-"

The two were interrupted by Gizmo, inexplicably, pushing the door open; he had a concerned expression splashed across his face. "Sane Cousin Robot!" he cried. "You could have just told me. Princess and I understand!" Then he broke out in his trademark goofy smile. "When you wake up, I'll turn that frown of yours upside down!"

"Please...don't," Robot grumbled. Unable to bear it anymore, he collapsed on the nearest bed: the spare mattress that Monster had set up on the floor for Gizmo. Almost immediately, he felt himself falling wheels over antenna into the first stage of sleep. Before he completely faded, he felt a blanket being gently pulled over him.

A soft, unfamiliar female voice whispered: "Sweet dreams, Robot."

Robot was surprised to find himself aware of entering REM. He'd never been a lucid dreamer; even after various attempts on his part to create artificial means to give himself control of dreams, to participating in studies Monster suggested he try from self-help books, it was an ability he'd just never been able to hone.

So, knowing this was his first time doing so gave him a subliminal thrill. After that realization, what really jolted Robot, though, was where he was exactly: he was in a dark, kind of Gothic feeling room. Black and white checkerboard floor, blood red curtains strung up on pale gray walls; the only visible light came from a few stray candles. What really caught Robot's attention was the sleek, grand piano sitting in the corner of the room, pitted under a slightly abstracted portrait of an unfamiliar girl.

Unbidden memories flowed into Robot's mind: When he was in college, he'd been in a free-range jazz group. Of course, Lucy had been there and she'd used to dazzle everybody with her Beethoven-level precision with the piano; she used to brag that she'd been taught by the long-dead Mechanical man himself.

Frowning, Robot could vividly remember every session he ever gained enough courage to push himself up front and go toe to toe with Lucy on his saxophone. That was one of the few times he'd ever impressed anybody; his range and profiency were so dazzling, people called him a virtuoso, sometimes going as far as telling he and Lucy that they should team up. That they'd take the world by storm with their music...

Just as the thought crossed his mind, glinting brass caught his eye. Lying forlorn and inviting against one of the piano legs...was a saxophone. Robot's claws ached for the touch of the valves, for the sound of its' clear, beautiful voice when he blew into the reed. It'd been so long since he'd played the instrument; six months since he'd graduated college and felt his dreams go skittering away when he'd had to pick up work at Gart's factory to keep himself afloat. Six brutal months that he'd let his once so loved instrument start collecting dust and grot.

Nostalgia overpowered him: he reached out, grabbed the saxophone, and placed his hands in the right positions. He took a deep breath, then started playing. At first, he was just playing scales, his mind saying: _so, mi, do, mi..._

Then, a silhouette appeared at the piano. Shadowed fingers started plucking at the keys, starting up a slow, somber melody. Turning to face the new arrival, Robot joined in, transitioning his sound to mesh with the piano. A minute or so passed before the two had started playing a recognizable tune: an instrumental, jazz flavored rendition of Brenda Russell's "Piano in the Dark."

To be clever, Robot played Brenda's vocal part melodies a few times and the anonymous pianist joined in by playing the lower baritone's accompanying vocal part. Whoever this dream figment was, they didn't miss a beat. Fingers flying, foot shifting on the pedals, they'd probably give old Lucy a run for her money. As the song finished, the pianist lifted his hands from the keys in a flourish, then rolled and stood up from the bench in a stylized fashion.

Scientific fascination took over when the stranger stepped into the light and revealed himself: He was pale, with crimson eyes, snow white hair, and a shark-like smile. He was dressed in a dark pinstripe suit, which immediately unnerved Robot, reminding him vaguely of Bricklin.

"Are you good or evil?" Robot asked as he pulled the saxophone away.

"Depends," he said in an ambiguous way. "I can be someone's worst nightmare, a hot babe's dream come true, the savior..."

"Great." Robot rolled his eyes. "I can't even escape arrogant hotheads in Dreamland...You're the first abstract creature I've ever met in my dreams, though. I feel like I'm talking to something out of Dali's paintings."

"I could say the same about you, tin can," he laughed.

"Well...I don't think this is a nightmare," Robot thought out loud. "I don't think I'd be able to dream up a demon that would play the piano in harmony with my saxophone...He would be as sharply dressed, but he definitely wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise."

"You're trying to _rationalize_ dreams?" The pianist plunged his hands in his pockets.

"Good point," Robot conceded, shooting him a sideways glare. Then he smirked as a mischievous thought came to mind. "So...I'm guessing it was more than just coincidence you were playing _Piano in the Dark_?"

"The tin can has a sense of irony!"

"My entire life is nothing but irony," Robot replied, rolling his eyes.

Smirking, the pianist took a step back and launched himself back onto the piano bench. Looking more sharklike than before, he played a few bars from Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody."

"Oh?" Robot smirked, raising the saxophone and playing a few lines from Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy." To Robot's chagrin, the pianist raised an eyebrow as he started playing the basic melody.

"Apparently...you enjoy having the last word, don't you?" Robot gibed.

"I'm curious," he replied, ignoring Robot's comment altogether. "How can you play the sax with just claws?"

"Lots of practice."

"Let's test that out," he challenged, canines glinting like sharp glass shards.

With an unprecedented determination, the pianist attacked the keys with furious fingers. Unnerving, Schroeder-brand chords rose and struck the air; the sounds seemed to become an imposing, physical presence. Licks of lightning spat and fizzled, becoming more and more apparent with the quickly rising intensity level.

Fear rising, Robot felt a short, sharp electrocution when the pianist shot a manic grin at him. Helplessly, he pulled the saxophone to him and started blowing air into it in a loud, sharp blast. The loud burst was a chaotic, displeasing addition to the cacophony. Shaking, Robot couldn't stand the chaos, the dramatic and jarring notes of this improvised composition. Somehow, he internally felt the power, the ability to either empower or kill behind every resonating and striking noise of the now vibrating piano.

A few seconds passed; his insides felt like they were being stretched to the point they were breaking and parts were falling, sparking. Pushing the mental image aside, Robot started to recognize snatches of chords and notes in the piano's shrieking, squawking caterwaul. Epiphany surged: This was the song he'd had buried in his mind for so long, the song he'd always intended to bring to life, but could never quite get himself to completely write out. It was supposed to be a dueling duet between piano and saxophone, with yowling, despaired vocals in-between the tense instruments. If he'd ever finished, the piece would be ironically titled: "Damien's Rhapsody."

Tears starting in his eyes, he brought up the saxophone and started playing. Dancing, sporadic notes appeared behind his now closed eyelids, leaping and cavorting in a stressed flurry. His clear, sultry sound mixed and started fencing with the strong, clamoring piano. Schoenberg's twelve tone system caught in a duel with the favored, structured chords of Classical era musicians.

When he slowly, tentatively opened his eyes again, both he and the pianist were starting to lower in pitch, the piano doing so through unorthodox glissandos and his saxophone descending through more traditional and gradual decrescendos. As the sound lowered, the room seemed to melt away into an obscured and gloppy pool of color. In a flowing, graceful way, an alien female form drifted up and out of the colors: she was a glowing, pulsating spot of yellow light.

Her voice rang out; a noise that was a blend between organ chords and bells, clear and pristine:

_The memories haunt me, ghosts and visions, _

_a man that calls himself "Damien"_

_He's depressed, splintered, and broken inside, _

_a weakened and dampening soul with no shell_

_You can see the reflections of fires in his eyes, _

_a plea for salvation, forgiveness in his tears_

_Gritting his teeth, he screams_

She raised her voice and belted out in a soprano:

"_The man who trods upon you and rips your heart in two_

_The man you despise, who fills you with fire and brimstone, _

_the man with a wolf's smile and relentless nature, _

_he'll cut you up and I cry, weep with every part of me, _

_stamping the ground and rolling in guilt, remorse!_

_That man isn't me! That man isn't me!_

_Oh, my precious baby boy, I wish you'd believe me!"_

_He wears a mask named Bricklin, _

_a dry ice and smirking face that's true reality _

_The living and breathing devil, _

_with his wife's and son's beating hearts _

_attached to the cufflinks of his shirt, _

_his 'baby boy's' soul caught around his neck_

_He prods them all with pins, _

_dissects and dismembers them with swords, _

_laughing with a cruelty that stings_

_Very much the man that fosters despair, _

_he takes what he wants and _

_incinerates the world in the process_

_Bricklin wants to let the world burn_

_A beast, an iredeemable demon_

_Yet, Damien continues to scream, fighting, _

_clawing, and desperate: _

"_That man isn't me! That man isn't me!_

_Oh, my precious baby boy, I wish you'd believe me!"_

As the poem grew and sharpened in its' metaphors, Robot started clashing with the pianist again. Their instruments were musical soldiers, their hiccuping, contrasted sounds representing a metaphorical battle between Damien and Bricklin. As the singer repeated Damien's plea, the instruments silenced briefly. An ethereal beat of silence passed, then the singer belted out with a long, anguished scream; the sound was accented by the saxophone and piano squawking in turn.

Robot was still playing a low, somber note on the saxophone when the pianist wrenched himself up off of the bench and raced towards the heavily breathing, convulsing singer. For a brief moment, Robot saw the anxiety and stress sewn into her face, tears gathering at the edges of goose egg green eyes. The sight made him burst into tears; all he could do was cling to his saxophone like a life raft and watch as the now distressed and deterred pianist gathered the girl in his arms, holding her form with a tender gentleness Robot hadn't thought he was capable of.

As Robot floated back towards reality, he felt like he was drifting on serene water. His mind seemed to sway back and forth, pendulum-like, between dreaming and gathering awareness. All of this happened with loud, anguished screams as the soundtrack: presumably, the pianist. Part of Robot wanted to see if the alien, glowing girl was okay while another part was eagerly ready to wake up.

Pitch blackness started to melt like creamy caramel, dissolving into bright white light. Colorful, impressionistic brush strokes started painting everywhere, creating a pleasant garden scene with a blue sky, trees, and a lush red poppy field. He still heard screaming off in the distance, but it became easier to drown out the noise as a warm, whispering wind struck up.

"Robot!" called an unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar, voice.

Still feeling a lump lodged in his throat, Robot turned to see the new visitor. This time, thankfully, it wasn't a frightening alien, but a Mechanical girl that seemed to be around his age. She was tall and slender with pear-shaped curves, a heart-shaped face, and pupiless blue eyes. Strangely enough, she wore clothes from another era: a maroon colored skirt and long-sleeved, Victorian-style top with a sapphire broach at the collar and lace cuff sleeves. Despite her strange sense of style, she was the second most beautiful woman Robot had ever seen in his life, J.D. Being the first; based on looks alone, anyway.

There was something both inviting, yet intimidating about her; she looked cautious and concerned all at the same time. "Your aura is so ferocious," she declared, her eyes pulsing as if a fire was burning inside of her. "Normally, it's dark red. But right now, it's muddied, distorted. It's even flickering to gray at times."

"Don't feed me nonsense!" Robot groaned. He rolled his eyes and fell back into the flower field, surprised by how soft and fluffy the grass felt, despite how blotchy and indistinct it looked up close. Closing his eyes and sighing, he hated the fact that he couldn't seem to escape the stress of reality even in his dreams. Of course, only he could feel so miserable in an otherwise serene and calming setting.

Opening his eyes again, he was looking up at the mysterious Mechanical girl; she loomed over him, glaring silently with intense eyes and a slightly curled back lip.

"It's_ not _nonsense," she replied. "It's a natural phenomena created by living beings. If more people were in tune with their emotions and opened their senses, they'd be able to see the entire spectra of aura-"

"I got the same talks with Mr. Small in school..." Robot sighed, rolling his eyes.

"He must be a very wise man!"

With that, the woman propelled herself into the flora next to Robot, her long skirt falling with her. A few seconds passed and she laughed, rolling and kicking her booted feet in the air like a giddy child. Smiling like a cherubic angel, she appeared out of the poppies a few seconds later; chin cupped in her hand, she looked curiously at Robot. "Tell me about Mr. Small's philosophies..."

"Sharing is caring," Robot sighed in disdain. "It's never good to keep emotions bottled up. Expressing yourself reduces stress and encourages creativity. If more people are in touch with their emotions and more empathetic, open communication is easier. Individuality is a key goal for anyone, but not if it completely cuts you off from compassion and caring...Hippie claptrap, pretty much."

"Doesn't your best friend Monster share _similar_ philosophies?"

"Yeah..." Robot blew out a long breath. "In retrospect, I guess it seems hypocritical to like Monster for the exact reasons I hated Mr. Small..."

"That's not really it. It sounds more like you really have trouble letting your walls down," the woman observed. "That you're..._afraid_ to show emotion?"

"I grew up with a family where self-control was all or nothing!" Robot trumpeted, clenching his claws. "They ground me up like meat in a meat grinder until I got so scared there's times where I can't even leave the house without screaming at my own shadow! I'll never be able to shirk their influence over me...It doesn't matter what my true mother is like or if I ever really, truly do find her. What difference would it really make?!"

"Wait..." The woman frowned. "Arpa's not your real mother?"

"I'm having trouble accepting that myself," Robot sighed. "Yet...it also makes a lot of sense. I've always known I wasn't one of them. I've been accepted for exactly who I am outside of home; I consider Monster and the Krumholtz family. Yet, I've never given up on the idea that I _could_ be a perfect Default man..."

Tears were in his eyes now and everything appeared like a confusing, colorful blur. "That Dad would acknowledge me, that Gart would see me as an equal, and that Mom...Arpa...especially, would finally tell me that she was proud I was her son. Then, I finally get one family member to tell me what I always wanted to hear..." He took a long, shuddering breath. "It's more heartbreaking than I ever could have imagined. It was exactly what I wanted to hear, but at what kind of price?!"

"There's more than one way to look at this," the woman protested. She grabbed a huge chunk of grass, yanked it up, and rolled it into a ball. "Think about the true feeling of family, what really, truly matters in the grand scheme of the universe-"

Robot rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Don't you _dare_ tell me to go back and beg Arpa to take me back and we can pretend things are just peachy keen! She's going to get Bricklin to kick me out of the family, I just know it..."

"I'm asking you to do no such thing!" she countered, eyes narrowed angrily, fingers clenching around the ball. "I'm telling you to consider your _real_ family again, Robot: Monster, the Krumholtz, _Gizmo_..."

"Gizmo?" One of Robot's eyes widened into a full circle, reflecting how strange hearing his cousin's name was in this context.

At that, the woman threw the ball of grass at him, her lip curling in a sneer, and her eyes glaring bloody murder. "Of course, Gizmo!" she yelped. "Of everyone you know, he'd relate to you best! He cares deeply about you. He _loves_ you."

"He's _crazy_!" Robot cried, grabbing at the sides of his head in abject horror. "He has schizophrenia..."

"So what if he did!"

"I'm not equipped to deal with that..." Robot sputtered, shaking his head. "Gizmo needs professional help. Yet, no matter how much he gets, he _never_ gets any better! Yes, he's spontaneous, crazy, and fun, but he's _not_ a normal, functioning member of society. Trust me, I want to see him get better. I want to see him get out of that asylum, but it just won't happen if he keeps being the way he-"

"Congratulations, Robot!" the woman howled, an edge of malice to her voice. "You _are_ a true blue Default! You moon over how much your family casts you out, yet you still hesitate and forget that you've done the same to Gizmo. Even now."

"My situation is different from his! He _literally_ needs mental help! I don't think he should be cast out of the family. I love the guy, truly! I swear I'll never let Arpa, Bricklin, or Gart near him-"

"Quit making excuses."

"I'm...not...making excuses," Robot murmured, feeling his argument fall apart and degenerate into bits of useless dandelion fluff.

"If that's true, it's time for you to step up and take action. Help him and he'll be the most loyal and caring ally you could truly ask for right now," she seethed, eyes pulsing like miniature exploding stars. "I should know." She placed one hand over her heart. "I'm his fianceé, Princess Invisible."

After she'd identified herself, Robot felt his gaze lock with hers for a long, drawn-out minute. To his dismay, he heard the screaming again, followed by glittering chimes.

"_She's in a coma..."_ he heard the distinctive voice of the pianist sob in his mind. _"MAKA!"_

"I'm...going crazy." Robot collapsed into the flowers, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to escape...wherever he was.

Eyes still closed, he could feel the tears still running down his face, pooling on his cheeks. He felt someone lightly place their hand on his forehead: Warm pulses of electricity flowed into him, caressing his wires and circuitry with muffled euphoria; his heart beat slowed, his breathing became more measured.

A brief vision came to him, a long-lost memory: There was a single yellow lamp, the light weak and filtered. It even fizzled and threatened to burn out. Then an older feline appeared, her blue fur slightly matted and scraggly, shadows under her eyes, yet the smile on her face was that of a guardian angel.

"Argus," she said in a voice caught between a whisper and a slight warble. "I...don't know if you'll remember us, let alone ever meet again, but..." She held up a hand-made pink rabbit plush; it was made from pink felt, had button eyes, a tiny red heart stitched into the pocket. "We'll _never_ forget you and we'll _always_ love you."

Several tears fell from her eyes, but one flew straight towards Robot, distorting the scene and shimmering like the facets of a diamond. When Robot opened his eyes again, he was back in the poppy field. His eyes were still wet, but Invisible hovered over him, dabbing lightly at the tears around the rims of his eyes with a soft linen cloth.

"I'm going crazy..." Robot muttered, suppressing a bubble of hysteric laughter.

"She's beautiful," Invisible commented, her expression distant. "I wonder what she's like in person."

"I'd like to know, too," Robot whispered.

"I'd like to know, too..." Robot whispered as his eyes slid open.

Somehow, he knew he'd waken up in the real world this time. Soft, muted light drifted into the room; as Robot became more aware, he was utterly surprised by how calm and serene he felt. The sounds of breathing filled the room-Monster and Gizmo, sleeping-followed by the low, steady hum of the apartment building's air conditioner.

Groggy, Robot sat up and looked around the small bedroom: There was Monster's hulking form, coccooned in his blankets and sheets with Marf parked near his feet. The little lead block's eyes were closed and the poor fellow seemed to be having a disconcerting dream of his own, batting at the air with his small wheels and making varied grunting noises and mewing "Marf" every so often.

When he turned to look at his own bed, he expected to see Gizmo there. Instead, he saw an entirely different form: Princess Invisible dressed in one of Gizmo's shirts and tangled up in the sheets and covers. And...she was the only one there.

More calm than he should have been, Robot turned and found Gizmo rolled up in an awkward ball next to him. Gizmo could barely fit on the mattress, his legs folded at the knee; comically, he still wore his favored spats over bare, copper feet, yet the rest of him was clothed in an ankle-length blue cotton night gown. Staring at his cousin, Robot couldn't help feeling a bizarre surge of affection: In a way, Gizmo was playing the role of the protective older brother that Robot had always wanted, but never really had.

Taking a deep breath in and then out, Robot lowered himself back onto the mattress and rolled onto his side. Then he closed his eyes and returned to sleep, this time sleeping much more fitfully.

The documents had been signed; it was official: Robot was now Gizmo's legal ward.

As if last week's big news about his true origin hadn't been enough drama, this just added yet another rock to sit and stew in the pit of Robot's stomach. Inexplicably, he and Monster had also gained the ability to see Princess Invisible. Then, the last week had been nothing but helping Gizmo and Invisible get accommodated with their new, albeit temporary, living quarters; filling out paperwork; cutting through different kinds of red tape...It'd just been endless stress.

Gizmo was chasing poor Marf across the living room, laughing and whooping like a maniac while Monster tried, in vain, to restrain him. Since it'd become very obvious the minute Robot had been able to see her that Invisible was attached to Gizmo at the hip, he took this opportunity to sate his quickly growing curiosity.

"I know you're not really a Mechanical," he declared in an "a-ha" kind of way when he approached the demure princess seated at the kitchen table.

"I've been meaning to discuss that with you and Monster..." she said sheepishly, her eyes traveling longingly towards the living room.

"I'll fill Monster in on the details."

"You...have a tendency to use overcomplicated language," Invisible replied, frowning.

Robot started chewing on his lip. "Monster's not dumb. He can piece things together..." Invisible shot him a knowing look. "Alright. Fine." Feeling brave, Robot grabbed a seat close to her. "One thing."

"Yes?" Invisible's fingers were laced and she looked at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Please, focus this time."

"Are you _implying_ something?" she challenged, her lower lip jutting out in the way it did when she was irritated or suspicious of something.

"Whenever Gizmo's in the room, you get incredibly spacy and distracted," Robot replied.

"I can't help it!" She sighed dreamily and looked towards the living room again. A silly smile creeped onto her face and she burbled: "Do you think we'll get to discuss wedding arrangements anytime soon?"

"What else is there to talk about?" Robot rolled his eyes. "Last week, it sounded like you two had everything already mapped out to the tiniest detail. I'm taking the path of least resistance and doing whatever you guys want."

"Even ride a unicycle underwater while juggling elephants and singing Frere Jacques backward in A flat?" Invisible prompted with a cheeky monkey grin.

Robot shot her a deadpan expression. "No doubt, you and Gizmo are a match made in Baconeaven."

"Don't play coy." Invisible grinned. "I noticed you cleaning your saxophone the other day..."

"When did you find the time to unstrap yourself from the harness Gizmo carries you around in everywhere?" Even though Robot knew he shouldn't bait her, he couldn't help it. Ever since he'd first met the woman, he felt an irresistable urge to tease and taunt her; she even encouraged him by teasing back. She groaned and rolled her eyes, but persisted: "I was wondering if you could play at my wedding," Invisible mused, cupping her chin in her palm.

"I'm throwing out my saxophone," Robot replied bluntly, his face set like stone.

"No longer feeling the musician's call because of predominantly right-brain thinking?" Invisible wore a half-smirk.

"I'm sure you know what kind of nightmare I experienced!" Robot cried, his pupils shrinking. "It was just so unreal and ungodly...It's been recurring, too: Some weird, white haired kid same one. Every damn night. Glaring at me, calling me a bastard, telling me I wrote a composition that magnifies abilities of something called a 'kishin' or whatever BS he spews." He started hyperventilating. "Sometimes, he turns different body parts into scythe blades and holds them up to me, threatening to cut me apart if I don't fix my mistakes. I never know if he'll follow through..." Robot shuddered. "I hope that the nightmares will stop if I just get rid of my sax. At least...that's what I'm hoping for anyway."

"Your aura's _still_ a muddy red," Invisible observed, brow creased. "Does anyone other than me know about Mrs. Watterson being your real mom?"

Robot sighed and folded his arms. Now, more than ever, he was self-consciously aware of the dark shadows under his eyes. "I haven't had time..."

"_Make_ time!" Invisible insisted, face set in a determined look. "That's _why_ you're having such horrible nightmares!"

"Hypocrite."

"_I'm_ a princess," Invisible teased, folding her arms and crossing her legs. "So, I'm allowed to get away with things that you mere mortals cannot!"

Robot just sighed heavily and shook his head. "Let me guess, you're going to find a way to get me to play that saxophone again whether I think it's related to nightmare creatures or not?"

"And you claim that you base all of your actions in logic and science!" Invisible smiled churlishly.

"You're right, though," Robot admitted, sighing heavily. "I want to be able to sleep properly again..."

Their conversation was cut off by Gizmo stumbling into the kitchen, wrestling with a restless and upset Marf. When Monster followed Gizmo into the kitchen, Marf wriggled out of Gizmo's grip and jumped, fearfully, into Monster's open arms; Gizmo laughed, pulling a treat out of his jacket pocket and extending it to the disgruntled metal block as a peace offering.

"Gizmo!" Invisible groaned. "How many times have I told you-?"

Her rant was cut off by Marf barking and looking up at Gizmo with wide, expectant eyes, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"Gizmo was just playing with Marf," Monster explained, out of breath.

Followed by the sound of Marf barking, Gizmo tramped across the room with a slight bounce in his step. No hesitation or warning, he swooped in towards Invisible, cupped one of his hands around her neck, and started kissing her passionately.

A few seconds passed, Robot watching with wide, frightened eyes. Then he shook his head, rolled his eyes, and stood up. "I'm out of here."

Usually, Robot strictly watched live action game shows and programming, if any TV at all. He'd always disliked animation; too much abstraction and surreal concepts for him to take in one sitting. The only times he'd surrendered and been forced to watch cartoons were those occasions when Globitha came over and held him in such a tight choke hold he couldn't get away. Ever since Gizmo had moved in, cartoons had become a thing that Robot had to deal with daily.

Gizmo was a fierce animation enthusiast; he and Invisible could spend hours discussing an episode of something they'd watched. The worst part, though, was that the more bizarre the cartoon was, the more Gizmo latched on to it. He especially delighted in alien-looking, hairless monkey characters called humans. Humans were gawkish and strange looking, their skin and hair a range of ugly Earthern tones; they had five fingers like Mechanicals, five toes, yet they were more Organic than Mechanical.

After Invisible told Gizmo about Robot's nightmares, Gizmo got the harebrained idea that cartoons would assuage and pacify Robot like they did with him. Of course, Gizmo picked his most _insane_ new obsession.

While Gizmo, Monster, and Invisible watched in captivated silence, Robot started feeling a growing sense of unease. Only a few seconds in, a certain character appeared on screen: It was the white haired kid with crimson eyes, and sharp teeth. Despite himself, Robot screamed. A high pitched and almost girlish scream.

"Please don't tell me _that's_ your favorite character," Gizmo spat childishly. "Soul's got nothing on how hilarious Death the Kid is."

" _I_ think he's cute!" Invisible protested with a half-smile.

"Of course. You have a soft spot for musicians." Gizmo rolled his eyes.

As the couple argued about characters Robot knew nothing about, he watched the screen for a few more seconds. Then he leaned back against the couch cushions with a strange kind of relief. This definitely explained the nightmares; he'd been inadvertantly watching too much of this silly show lately and his subconscious was using it as a springboard to project his concerns and discontent.

"He scares the crap out of me," Robot interjected, talking without thinking. "Those sharp teeth...Piranha teeth."

"That's just a quirky part of his character design," Invisible laughed, crossing her legs.

"Try having a nightmare about him where he's threatening to chop you up, then tell me about it!"

"_He's_ your nightmare monster?!" Invisible was caught between concern and laughter.

"I'd have nightmares about him, too..." Gizmo muttered.

"Gizmo, turn off the TV," Monster instructed, putting a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "Robot, we need to have a group talk. Now."

Shrugging, Gizmo flicked the TV off. All of them were looking at Robot with laser eyes now. Their collective gazes were so intense it made Robot nervous. Letting out a low breath, Robot turned around and tried to bury his head into the material of the couch behind him, a gesture akin to a frightened ostrich sticking its' head into the dirt to escape the outside world.

"Robot," Monster prompted in a stern, but kindly voice.

Robot sighed heavily and shook. "I found out that Arpa wasn't my biological mother last week..."

"Oh, my!" Gizmo reached across Invisible's lap and patted the outer casing of one of Robot's wheels.

"Why didn't you tell me, Robot?!" Monster gasped. "No wonder you look so bad..."

Right when Robot was going to snap at Monster's comment, Monster had collected him into a friendly hug. "You know you still have my mom, right? She'd be perfectly okay with you seeing her as your mom, too!"

"Princess Invisible and I could play the roles of being your mom and dad!" Gizmo suggested, wrapping his arms around his fianceé's waist and nestling his head on her shoulder. This just made her smile and roll her eyes in a "Don't encourage him" gesture.

Taking a deep breath, Robot recounted his entire encounter with Arpa, every last grueling detail. Knowing how taxing the experience was emotionally, Invisible had her hand perched on his shoulder, Gizmo was flicking at his antenna supposedly to "distort feed from unwanted interlopers", and Monster interrupted the story every so often with giant hugs and reassuring words. Even Marf crawled out from his mysterious hiding place, leaped into Robot's lap, and curled up there. When Robot finished, he felt like a gigantic weight had been lifted up off of his chest. He whistled merrily under his breath, a very breathy and warbly interpretation of "Zippity Do Dah."

Then Gizmo joined in, singing and waving his arms about as he pretended to play the role of a conductor, followed by Invisible's surprisingly plesant alto voice, then Monster who whistled more pristinely than Robot could ever hope to, and, finally, Marf joined in with a bunch of loud and distracting barks. After a minute or so, the song faded into companionable silence.

"My earlier offer still stands!" Gizmo chirped.

"Have you considered seeking out Mrs. Watterson?" Invisible asked, bumping Gizmo with her elbow.

"That'd be a great idea!" Monster echoed. "It'd give both of you closure, Robot."

"I don't know," Robot replied honestly, frowning. "I need more time. I...I feel like I need to resolve things with Arpa first."

"Do you think you would eventually?" Monster pressed, anxious.

"Probably," Robot sighed. "I just need more time to let it sink in. I just...Time."

"Did you know that I was a time lord?" Gizmo perked up, smiling and giggling as he started playing with the clock hanging around his neck.

"I want some time to clear my head," Robot announced with a small smile. "You guys can get back to watching...whatever that program was."

"Okay," Invisible conceded, giving a thumbs up before launching into a discussion laced with nerd lingo to Gizmo.

"Where are you going, Robot?" Monster asked, skittering after Robot as he headed towards the front door.

"The Makin' Bacon," Robot replied. Once they reached the door, he noticed the plaid scarf hanging on the hook near the door. He spent a long moment just staring, contemplating, before taking it and putting it on. Today, he felt a philosophical tug, like he was about to find something new and different just around the corner. Something that would transform him into an entirely new man. For some unknown reason, this just made the smile on Robot's face grow as he wrapped the scarf around his neck.

Just as he pushed the door to go outside, though, an arm braced against the door, stopping it. Following was a concerned Arpa, her fingers flexing with the bowstring frown on her face.

"Mrs. Default?!" Monster gasped.

"Arpa!" Robot hissed, his smile instantly gritting into an angry frown. "What are _you_ doing here?!"

"Better _me_ than Bricklin!" she snapped.

"Monster," Robot whispered, holding up a claw. "Give me a minute alone with this _rude_, uninvited guest?"

"Robot!" Monster's face was a mosaic of bewilderment.

Robot cut him off with his claw. "On second thought, come out into the hallway with me."

Confused, the tall purple Organic followed Robot out into the hallway. Softly, Robot closed the door behind the three of them; he knew Gizmo would catch on eventually, due to the Mechanical's incredibly uncanny sixth sense. For now, though, he was depending on Gizmo and Invisible being so distracted by the other that he'd have enough time to deal with Arpa alone.

"What do _you_ want?" Robot demanded, cutting straight to the chase.

Arpa sniffed, eyes closed and fists clenched at her sides. "Robot, you've been disowned. As of today, you're no longer a Default."

Every word fell like a cement block, Arpa's face constricting and squeezing as if a one-ton anvil had been dropped on her foot. Slowly, she opened her eyes again; Robot was expressionless, now, caught in the strange suspension of disbelief that accompanied something shocking.

It was as if he saw the world from an omniscient point of view: Just how tired he was, from the pinpricks of light sparking behind his eyes, signifying broken circuitry; the shadows under his eyes looking like they'd been painted there with dark, bruise colored paint.

Absolutely furious, Monster took a step forward and growled: "How could you?!"

"_Willingly _signing Gizmo out of the insane asylum, then taking legal responsibility for him?!" Arpa said sharply, then shot an incriminatory look at Robot. "How could you be so..._brash_, Robot?!"

"He's doing what the rest of you should have from the beginning!" Monster roared, quickly reaching the height of his anger. "_Family_ doesn't turn their back on family!"

Arpa clucked. "Gizmo is an absolute disgrace! We tried to help him, Mr. Krumholtz. But, the more he entertained the notion of seeing invisible people and hearing voices, the more we knew he was nothing but a lost cause."

"He's _still_ family," Monster challenged.

"This has nothing to do with you!" Arpa trilled, waving a dismissive hand at Monster. "Really, Robot. How could you be so irresponsible? Just take Gizmo back to the asylum and I'll _try_ to help you make amends with Bricklin."

That desperate look on Arpa's face; he could see the shimmering longing in her pupils. That silent plea. A fish hook had wrapped itself around the violin strings of Robot's heart and tugged, hard. Unbidden, a scene from one of the many nightmares of the week flashed and rolled through Robot's mind:

"Did you know it's my job to eradicate evil from the world?" Soul seethed through his sharp teeth. The sharp crescent shaped edge of his scythe-arm was less than a millimeter away from Robot's face; Robot could see his frightened eyes reflected in the red and black zigzagging surface.

The only response Robot could muster, the one he always gave, was a gurgling, garbled sound.

"Just wait until we meet face to face!" Soul growled. "I'm going to rip _you_ and _Bricklin_ to tiny pieces for what you're doing...what you've _done_." He sheathed the scythe, breathing heavily, foam gathering at the edges of his mouth. "I'll relish in destroying you, especially, tin can. For what you did to my girlfriend."

"...I don't know who that is," Robot replied in a quiet, choked up voice. "I'm honest every time I tell you I don't know what you're talking about."

"I hate that look of fear in your eyes! How you pretend to look innocent when you full well know what you did."

"I hate that you're part of why I might die from sleep deprivation!"

"Someday, you'll break," he bellowed in a low voice. "I'll keep coming back. I'll haunt you until you break."

"You're _evil_," Robot screamed as his heartbeat rolled in and over him like a wave. "Pure evil incarnate!"

As the scene faded, Robot felt like his innards had been taken down and rearranged like Teris blocks. Somehow, remembering that was exactly the fodder he needed to combat how sweetly tempting Arpa's offer was. He mentally taped a picture of Gizmo to his mind's eye as he clenched his claws and uttered one, definite word: "No."

"You know you're no longer in line for ownership of the factory..." Arpa added, looking irritated, but the whispy tone of her voice eluded to her grasping at loose straws.

"Thom can have it!" Robot snapped.

"You've also been fired from the Blinking Lights Factory," Arpa said with finality.

"Fine..." By now, Robot's shoulders were heaving and he shook violently. After an entire week of being too busy to really think about it, Robot felt the full, crushing blow of what all of this meant. His entire life as he knew it had fallen apart, splintering and breaking into so many pieces he'd never be able to put things back together. "Fine...Fine. I don't need you guys anyway."

Sobbing, Robot fought an oncoming short circuit. Depressed and hollow, he fell against the wall, tears falling uncontrollably. Behind his eyelids, Robot imagined himself reaching for the image of Gizmo, begging for the quiet, hopeful promise of what their friendship had been during his childhood. Instead, Gizmo's face turned into angry red eyes leering up at him from a scythe's blade.

Helplessly, Monster turned and looked at Robot with wide, shocked eyes; he ran towards his friend, offering hugs and consolance, but Robot mindlessly batted him away.

Even Arpa had silently joined Monster, twiddling her fingers as she looked on with worried eyes. Silently, while Monster was distracted in trying to cheer him up, Robot noticed Arpa gently slip a yellow envelope into his claw. Her fingers hesitated a few seconds before she pulled away. With that, she turned and retreated. Watching her go, Robot was shaking violently when Monster managed to pull him into a tight hug.

A few seconds later, the apartment door flew open and both Monster and Robot were yanked back inside by Gizmo. Gasping for breath, Robot felt it much more difficult to breathe as soon as Gizmo had joined in on the group hug, collecting both Robot's tiny, tube-shaped form and Monster's tall, wide one in his slender, but suprisingly strong arms.

Invisible appeared above all the commotion, then. Gently, she reached out and touched Robot's forehead. Violet and green light flowed from her fingers and seeped into his metal chassis, dripping into his circuitry. Just like when he'd first met her in the dream world, her ability calmed him down drastically. The tears stopped and he took a deep breath, feeling further relief when Monster and Gizmo slackened their tight hold on him.

"Robot," she said with a sheepish smile. "I'm an Aurora Borealis. We're beings made of highly concentrated electromagnetic energy mixed with...well, magic. Very few people can actually, physically see us."

"Why...can I see you now?"

"Because you finally let yourself believe in my existence," she said simply, a sweet, but vaguely impish smile dancing on her lips.

"It's been way too long since you rugrats were last here!" Nessie gibed, the older woman's eyes lighting up as her two best customers entered the establishment.

"It's been a rough couple of weeks," Robot replied as he took a seat at the counter. He pulled halfheartedly at the fringe of the plaid scarf, his new trademark since he'd unceremoniously thrown his "R" into the garbage.

"I heard," Nessie said with a somber nod, placing a heaping plate in front of him. "Would you prefer to turn this into a to-go order, kiddo?"

"No..." Robot looked sideways at the tower of bacon.

Next to him, Monster had already shoved his hand onto his own plate of bacon and was shoveling gratuitous amounts into his maw. Frowning, Monster said through a full mouth: "Robot!" Chew, chew, swallow, then Monster reached out and put a hand on Robot's back. "Do you need to go back home?"

With a deflated attempt at a reassuring smile, Robot grabbed a strip of bacon and took a bite out of it. His chewing was slow, deliberate, but after just one bite, he stared dejectedly at it. Here, he'd thought a trip out on the town with his best friend would vox out the storm clouds that had been hanging over his head lately...Yet, his empty, hollow stomach told him otherwise; he could even swear he heard a soft thump from the bacon he'd just eaten hitting the metal floor of said stomach.

"No," Robot said solemnly.

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Hey, Robot," Nessie said, gently poking his shoulder with her tentacle. "I could give you a temporary janitor position here at the Makin' Bacon." She frowned for a second, before adding, "Just _you_ cleaning, though. No inventions, please."

"Thanks, Nessie." Robot managed a small smile. "I...can see you're not too keen on the idea, though, so I'll stick to the classifieds."

Robot's smile widened as soon as he saw Nessie trying, poorly, to hide her obvious relief.

"Trust me, I don't want a repeat of last time!" Robot laughed.

"You're better off not being at that Factory, anyway," Nessie said, suddenly serious.

"It was the first job that I could get," Robot hedged with a small shrug. "I used to dream of quitting every day, Nessie. That I was just biding my time until I could get a job as an inventor..." He shrugged again, sighing and looking down at the counter top. "Now? I'm definitely looking for a temp job. I'm not completely down and out, though. My cousin has a job lined up that he'll start at after he gets married. He offered to let me move in with him for awhile and..." Robot's eyes turned into round circles, pupils glittering. "Yesterday, he called the guys that hired him and got me a job interview to become a draftsmen."

"Sounds like you've got it made!" Nessie smiled. "I'm glad you're getting away from that dismal factory and moving on to bigger, better things..."

"Me, too!" Monster smiled himself before taking another bite of bacon.

"So, why are you still down in the dumps?" Nessie asked, leaning forward on the counter. "The Robot Default I know gets frustrated and angry, but he's also the most resilient person I know! To quote one of my favorite songs: 'I get knocked down, but I get up again. You're never gonna keep me down.'"

"It's...kinda personal," Robot admitted. "You'll probably hear about it in the newspapers soon-"

Just as he said this, one of the other patrons tossed the day's newspaper across the counter; it bopped Robot on the head before landing and unfolding in front of Nessie's eyes. Her jaw dropped visibly at the headline: **ROBOT DISOWNED FROM DEFAULT FAMILY**.

"Yup, there it is," Robot commented sarcastically.

"Normally, I'd say hold your head up high and stay true to yourself," Nessie replied, looking cryptic. Then she looked up at Robot with furrowed brows. "In this case, I'll be honest with you: You're better off getting as far from the other Defaults as you can."

"I didn't know you held a grudge."

This caught Monster's attention; he lowered his fork and turned towards Nessie with wide, curious eyes. Sighing, Nessie took off her hat and placed it on the counter. "There's a story I want to tell you about Mr. Default." She turned and yelled: "I'm going on break!" As she exited the counter, her disgruntled nephew emerged from the side room, pulling out his ear buds and groaning as he slipped his cell phone in his back pants pocket.

"Monster, I want to have a one-on-one with Robot, okay?"

"Okay..." Monster shrugged, warily eyeing Nessie's nephew and sticking out his tongue at the memory of a particularly bad bacon coffee.

Confused, Robot followed Nessie outside into the late winter sunshine. Chilly, but not unpleasantly so, Robot was glad he'd started wearing the scarf.

"I like your new style," Nessie said with a sly wink.

"Thanks."

Nessie took a long breath as she seated herself at the outside table. Vaguely, Robot wondered if the older woman had ever taken up smoking cigarettes in her long lifetime...

"You...said you hold a grudge against my-the Defaults?" Robot prompted, seating himself.

"I've owned and managed the Makin' Bacon for a very long time," Nessie started, folding her tentacles. "And, of course, there's an extensive history that comes with just that." Nessie looked over her shoulder, doing a quick scan for the mysterious "ex-best friend" of hers that showed up every so often. "In the late 80s, I temporarily had to shut down my establishment and declare bankruptcy. Those were very dark days for me. I had to look all over for a job, even to the point I was accepting whatever I could get."

Robot frowned. "Real confidence booster, there."

"Let me finish!" Nessie cried, shaking her head. "After getting rejected once, I was called back a few days later to work at The Blinking Lights Factory..."

Robot listened with wide, surprised eyes as Nessie described watching one of her co-workers get literally incinerated and another almost face death on the job.

"_That _was when Bricklin was in charge," Nessie finished, a grim expression on her face.

"I guess I can give Gart one thing: He hasn't let anything _that_ horrible happen..."

"I had to work at The Blinking Lights Factory for three years," Nessie sighed. "I've been hoping and praying to heaven above that it gets shut down..." She looked grim as the sides of her mouth pulled into a taut line. "Keep this on the down low, Robot, but Bricklin's set his sights on The Makin' Bacon. He's trying to buy _me_ out." She let out a long, shuddering breath. "He's been buying out _a lot_ of property lately. I've even heard rumors that he intends to relocate his corporate headquarters to The Rainbow Factory in Elmore."

"I can only imagine what he's up to," Robot said dismally. _...He owns the property she lives on; he owns the factory she works at..._Arpa's words echoed ominously in Robot's mind.

"It doesn't matter," Nessie replied darkly. She reached out and placed her tentacle over Robot's in a concerned mother fashion. "The reason I'm telling you this is: It's a good thing Bricklin cut every tie he has to you. Now, get away from here as fast and as soon as you possibly can. The sooner, the better."

Rocks settling in the very pit of his stomach, Robot stared at the profile on his computer screen:

Nicole Watterson

Age: 46

Status: Married to Richard Watterson

Job: Sales Consultant at the Rainbow Factory

No wonder Robot had felt such an overwhelming urge to find her. His claws were shaking and clammy; he could barely hold the mouse, let alone use the keyboard.

Sighing inwardly, he looked over his shoulder: Gizmo and Invisible were cuddling, asleep in each other's embrace on the couch. Monster had taken Marf out for a walk. This left the apartment eerily silent. Right now, that was exactly what Robot needed, but at the same time, he really needed some kind of positivity to vox out the anxiety wrapping around him and choking him.

Before he could chicken out, he clicked the "Send Private Message" button and started typing:

"Hello, my name is Robot Default. I recently found out that my real name is Argus Watterson and, after further research, discovered that you're my birth mother. I'm twenty-three years old and live in Gearsburg, which is about forty-five minutes away from Elmore. I was wondering if you'd like to schedule a time and place to meet for the very first time?"

Monster and Robot stood across the street from a small park in Elmore. Small pangs ran through Robot as he watched the young children chase each other through tunnels and across the playground equipment. Despite it being early February, the weather was unusually warm and pleasant.

In a weird way, the time, the place, the setting...Everything was as close to perfect as it could get. Almost as if Robot were living in a scene directly cut and pasted out of a movie. Insides reeling, he pulled at his scarf, then consulted the Daisy the Donkey watch Monster was wearing for the thousandth time. A second passed, the little neon pink hand moving another notch.

Robot felt like the air was rushing out of his lungs, as if impatience were a needle point that poked them. Everything started getting fuzzier, softer, hazier as breath seemed to become a more and more precious commodity.

Just as Monster was about to say something, a wood pannelled station wagon pulled up to the curb. A single door opened and a pretty woman in a gray skirt and white polo emerged. Despite himself, the first thing Robot noticed was the Rainbow Factory pin attached to her sleeve. His heart shot up to his throat as he slowly looked up at her.

An Argus butterfly, his namesake, fluttered on to the scene, landing delicately on Nicole Watterson's nose. Through each small movement of the butterfly's wings, Robot caught snatches of her dark eyes. Their gazes locked, freezing a beautiful moment in time.


	8. Chapter 8: Homemade Lemonade

8: Homemade Lemonade

Author's Note: From this point on, yes, there's a second perspective besides Robot's. The story is still centralized and about Robot; these other bits just create a bigger, 360 picture of the overarching situation. I will apologize for this bit unceremoniously dragging and pitching Soul Eater characters, terms, and lingo in more mercilessly than the previous parts. And, despite what flack I may end up receiving: There _are_ ponies in this chapter.

Fluffy snow drifted lightly down from a pastel gray sky. It was cold enough that every time Soul opened his mouth, a puff of water vapor spilled out. He grinned in a lopsided way, thinking of how his professor enjoyed nursing cigarettes every spare chance he got.

The distracted thought was cut off by a gloved hand reaching up and playfully tweaking his nose.

"Honk honk!"

"Looks like someone's having fun," Soul laughed.

Dirty blond Maka launched herself into his chest, wrapping her arms around him, and leaning against the material of his heavy blue winter coat. Bright pink cheeks and a sigh, she gathered him closer, relishing in their shared body heat. Chuckling under his breath, Soul returned the hug and idly started to run his fingers through her hair, teasing at the pigtails, and trying to pull them out before she noticed.

"What are you doing?" she asked, eyes closed.

"Nothing," he replied as he dug his index finger under one of the small hair bands keeping her pig tails in.

Smile growing, she reached up and lightly grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from her hair. Eyes wide, he watched as she held his hand close to her face, pulling at the index finger and slowly, carefully, peeled the glove away. Sweetly, she leaned in and kissed his palm, dragging his hand to her face and holding it against her cheek.

"I wish you didn't have to come and go..." she murmured. "It gets so lonely, being stuck here in my mind."

"I know," he replied, frowning. "I've been trying my best to find out how to help you break free, but that little metal bastard won't say anything."

Maka frowned, taking Soul's hand and pulling it away from her face. She removed her own glove and latticed her bare fingers through his. Her eyes were burning and angry. "Leave him alone."

"_He's_ the one that did this to you!" Soul protested.

"Leave him alone," Maka insisted, a stronger edge to her voice.

Soul grunted, nostrils flaring like those of a bull seeing red.

"He might be a case like Chrona," Maka went on in a softer tone of voice. "He's a victim, rather than a participating accomplice. I don't think Robot even has any idea what Bricklin's really up to..."

"I can't believe you're willing to give him a free pass."

"It's not his fault," she sighed, squeezing Soul's hand. "Just try giving him the benefit of the doubt. For me."

In reply, Soul just closed his eyes and simmered in silent resentment. As if to give him further encouragement, he felt Maka's lips press gently against his. A feather tip kiss.

"Soul!"

His eyes snapped back open. Groaning, he hated to find himself back in reality, especially the chemical scented hospital room. Translucent curtains danced across the windows on the opposite wall; blinding light poured in, blocking any of the potential scenery.

"What are you doing?" Unlike Maka's innocent, teasing voice, this one was lower, masculine, stern.

Sighing, Soul rolled over. Of course his current predicament probably looked awkward: He was in a white T-shirt and pajama pants, buried under blue blankets and sheets, arms wrapped around the unmoving and comatose form of his meister Maka. Whoever was bugging him, all he felt was irritated and more than a little pissed off. He wanted to return to Maka as soon as possible, considering how limited a time he was allowed to spend with her now.

For a second, he felt slight anxiety as he pulled away from Maka and sat up. What if it was her spazzing, overprotective old man Spirit...? The thought made him grit his teeth and start running through mental blueprints of the quickest exit routes throughout the room. Bracing himself for the worst, he turned to see who was talking to him: Death the Kid.

Soul gritted his teeth harder to the point he thought he could feel pressure on his gums; Kid was another person he really hadn't wanted to confront right now.

This was due more to personal pride than anything else, though. Before Maka had fallen into her current coma, they'd been extremely close to becoming a top tier meister and weapon team; it'd been a behemoth task for Soul to sit on his upset at being so close, yet so far from _finally_ becoming a Death Scythe.

Just yesterday, Kid had achieved exactly this goal. He wasn't necessarily flaunting it, but he had changed his trademark outfit; he'd started wearing a knee-length trench coat, black gloves, and had a skull mask in his pocket. His Death Scythes Liz and Patty carried themselves with more authority now, too; they'd even changed their own wardrobes to pretty much the female equivalent of Kid's new get-up...

To make matters worse, Kid's newly dubbed apprentice stood respectfully behind her teacher, looking at Soul with sympathetic pink eyes.

"What are you doing, Soul?" Kid prompted yet again, flexing his gloved fingers impatiently.

Soul sighed and reached up, rubbing his forehead, then running a hand through his hair. "I figured out that I could communicate with Maka through soul resonance," he admitted somberly.

Slight shock registered on Kid's face. "Do you think you'd be able to draw her out of the coma?"

Swallowing a sizable lump in his throat, Soul shrugged. "I honestly don't know..." Frowning, he turned towards Maka again and lightly cupped her face in his palm.

"It's possible to talk to her through soul resonance?" Kid's apprentice stepped forward, eyes shining.

When Soul gave a confirmatory nod, she looked up at Kid. "Would Miss Marie's healing waves be of any help here?"

"Someone's been observant," Kid acknowledged with a prideful smile. "We've tried that already. Unfortunately, there's been no cure found as of yet. We'll just have to wait and see."

Those words felt like somebody had shot Soul through the heart. Biting down on his lip, he lightly caressed Maka's cheek, feeling subdued resentment towards both Kid and his naive apprentice for using this as 'teacher-student' time.

Rolling his eyes, Soul couldn't help noticing just how wholly the girl held Kid's attention; the Reaper's son barely gave anyone that kind of _undivided_ attention.

She was clasping her hands now, pencil thin eyebrows drawn as an idea occurred to her. "What about my _own_ purifying resonance?" Unclasping her hands, she revealed two cartoonish four-leaf-clovers drawn on her palms. "If I combined it with Miss Marie's healing waves, and then we both resonated with-"

"Absolutely not," Kid cut her off sternly, clapping his hands on the girl's narrow shoulders. "She was hit by a dangerously high dose of madness. Maka's a three star meister; one of the most powerful students here at the DWMA and it's incredibly unnerving that she's been so negatively affected by this." An action that was very inappropriate to his role to her, he placed his forehead against hers. "I have faith your abilities, Gina. It's just, you still have a lot of training and practicing before-"

"Get a room, lovebirds!" Soul snapped.

"Our relationship is strictly professional!" Kid griped, shooting a pointed glare at Soul.

"Ahh," Gina squeaked, pulling herself away from Kid. "I'm not opening _that _can of worms again right now."

With hurried steps, Gina exited the room muttering in Spanish under her breath, the door slamming unceremoniously behind her; Soul couldn't help the slightly wicked grin that slipped onto his face when he saw Kid's yellow eyes helplessly follow the short, curvy girl out of the room. Once he was sure Gina was gone, Soul couldn't help taking a few potshots.

"What's it like being surrounded by so many girls?" he cracked. "You've pretty much got a harem now that you've taken Gina and Cat under your wing!"

"Shut up," Kid muttered, blushing furiously.

"Is the apprentice thing necessary after you reach Death Scythe status?" Soul asked curiously, blinking.

"No...my dad just recommended I take on an apprentice to..." He scoffed. "...improve my people skills. He claims it's an exercise to prepare me for when I take over the family business."

"So, did you handpick that cutie?" He wiggled an eyebrow suggestively.

"As a matter of fact, I did." Kid folded his arms and cleared his throat. "But not entirely for superficial reasons, mind you. She's the second highest in her class intellectually; she can fight adequately, but she just needs some extra help. She's been having major difficulty with soul-"

"Not _entirely_ superficial?"

"I came to visit Maka, _not_ to be heckled about my love life..."

That comment just made Soul's grin widen that much more.

Kid snorted derisively. "You're lucky you and Maka have perfect symmetry when you're lying there together." His expression softened slightly. "I suppose I came at an inappropriate time...I'll leave you two alone for now."

"Finally," Soul groaned.

"I intend to research more into what you just told me. There may very well be a way to help Maka return and I know a certain somebody who could be of very nominal assistance."

"Thank you," Soul said softly, sincerely.

Kid smiled serenely and inclined his head before turning and walking towards the door. Just as he exited, Soul couldn't help making one more crack: "And now, the Reaper returns to his daily soap of being surrounded by attractive girls, but alas, he's stuck in the friend zone!"

{{{{{{{{{

A magic chime sound echoed in Robot's mind when the butterfly fluttered and took off from the tip of Nicole's nose.

Wordlessly, Nicole took a tentative step forward, then she collapsed to her knees, lunging at Robot and enveloping him in a giant hug. Trembling, she started weeping and Robot found himself at an utter loss for what to do. Yet, the confusion passed quickly. He was caught up in the moment, returning the tender embrace of his long-lost mother, weeping bucketfuls for the missed years, the unanswered questions.

Almost five whole minutes passed before the two finally gained some form of composure.

Nicole held him at arm's length, sniffling as she looked him head to toe.

"You grew up into such a _handsome_ young man!" she gushed.

Robot blushed, wanting to cover his face with his scarf.

"We have quite a bit of catching up to do, Robot!" she continued, grinning ear to ear as a new wave of tears threatened. "You had a long drive over here. Can I treat you to lunch, honey?"

Robot's blush deepened and he started pulling at his scarf now. "Lunch sounds good."

"You can bring your friend, too!" Nicole took Robot's claws in her paws and squeezed them affectionately. "Oh, I know it hasn't even been two minutes, yet, but this is already one of the _best_ days of my life!"

Face a red tomato, Robot just swallowed and nodded in acknowledgment. That smile, her bright and happy personality, the sincerity. Somehow, in a very short amount of time, Nicole had started wriggling her way into her son's heart.

Time was an easy flowing river. Next thing Robot knew, he and Monster were sitting across a booth from Nicole. Monster was trying to entertain himself by making "homemade lemonade", much to the chagrin of the waiter while Robot and his mom launched into an intense game of twenty questions.

"What are things like in Gearsburg?" Nicole started.

"It's okay," Robot said honestly. "But, I've always wanted to get away from that town. Go somewhere smaller, perhaps in the countryside...then go and find adventure and potential clients for my inventions in bigger, more active cities."

"How exciting!" Nicole smiled. "What are your life goals?"

"To become a successful, full-time inventor," he replied. "Still working on making that happen, but thanks to my cousin, I'm getting closer."

"That's wonderful!" Nicole tapped her chin absentmindedly. "Have you patented anything yet?"

"Not officially," Robot said glumly.

"Can I see some of your schematics?" Nicole asked instead, trying to push the other question under the rug.

"You...want to see _my_ inventions?" Robot was in shock for a long moment, irises huge and glowing. "Somebody besides Monster..." A huge, surprised smile broke out on Robot's face. Despite his disbelief and shock, though, he wasted no time at all opening his front hatch and pulling out a few of the blueprints and schematics he carried with him everywhere.

For the next half hour, he showed off and explained different designs to a very intrigued and fascinated Nicole. He didn't even have to explain technical terms more than once or convince her that the designs could be practical. Of everyone he'd ever met aside from Monster, the Krumholtz, and Gizmo, she was the first "lay man" to give him praise and constructive comments about his designs. She even gave him helpful advice as to what the casual consumer might like to find in some of his designs.

The only thing that stopped them was a very angry, and thoroughly drenched, waiter tapping Robot on the shoulder. "Ah...you need to leave sir. _Now._"

"What? Why?!" Robot instantly went on the defensive, but then he turned and saw Monster. Smiling sheepishly, the tall Organic tugged at the limes he'd speared to his horns; his hands were covered in sugar particles from ten different opened packets of Splenda.

"Monster..." Robot had a very impatient, older brother tone in his voice.

"I was trying to make my own lemonade!" Monster protested. "I saw a lady a few tables down doing it and it looked like fun!"

"Did you have sugar bacon this morning?"

Monster gave a silent, guilty nod.

"Gizmo's influence," Robot groaned audibly. "Monster, from now on, don't listen to Gizmo when he tries to get you to do something stupid. Capiche?"

"Princess Invisible was in on it, too!" Monster hedged, then sighed, looking down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Robot..." He looked up at the very irritated waiter now, too. "I'll help clean this up."

Worriedly, Robot turned to look at Nicole; the older woman had a knowing expression on her face, her lip curled back as she pulled out her wallet and started digging around. With an apologetic smile, Robot tapped her wrist in a "stop" gesture as he pulled out his own wallet and handed the waiter both the money for the uneaten meal and a hefty tip for his trouble.

"Oh..." Nicole furrowed her brows as she looked at the table. There were two foam containers, both holding food neither had gotten to eat due to being so distracted. "The food-"

"I have a microwave," Robot assuaged, grabbing the containers.

"If you say so," she said, still looking guilty.

The two stepped back outside. This time, though, Robot didn't even have to look to know the sun was bright and shining. Normally, he'd be aggravated by what had just happened, but the past hour or so had dragged him up from such deep emotional depths, he was consumed by happiness. Nothing else really touched his mind right now. All he wanted was to relish in this rare, beautiful emotion.

"How old is Monster?" Nicole asked, biting her lip.

"Twenty-two," Robot sighed, rolling his eyes. "He's usually not this bad. My cousin's been in town and, he's a very immature, childish guy. So, he's...been kind of a bad influence on Monster lately."

"I can relate," Nicole laughed, wearing a tired smile. "I have three rambunctious kids at home..."

"I'm...an older brother?" The concept seemed so novel and alien to Robot. He remembered Arpa saying that Nicole had other kids, but he hadn't quite connected the dots that they were his siblings.

"Would you like to see pictures of them?" Nicole asked, launching into proud parent mode.

"Sure!"

Eagerly Nicole popped open her wallet and started pointing at various pictures and giving brief descriptions. Gumball, her oldest, took after her in looks; he had a heart of gold coupled with untamed mischief and his daddy's deviance. Darwin, her second oldest, was the oddball, but it didn't matter that he wasn't blood-related; he was a bit naive, but very worldly and wise for his age, not to mention a complete sweetie. Then there was Anais, her youngest and taking after dad in looks; she was a very precocious and down-to-earth child, extremely mature for her age, but still the cherubic little girl she appeared to be at heart.

After seeing pictures of each kid, Robot had a kaleidoscope of mixed feelings; part of him wanted to meet and interact with them all in person, but at the same time he also felt slight tingles of envy, confusion, indecision. Once she finished introducing them, Nicole snapped her wallet shut and slid her arm around Robot's shoulders. What unnerved him was the new look on her face, how she seemed to peeling away his metal shell and staring into his very soul.

"Someday, I'd like to introduce you to them," she said in an even voice. "But, I'd like to get to know you better first and truly develop the mother-son relationship we never got to have...Do you think we can schedule to meet up again sometime soon?"

Both her voice and her face were hopeful, expectant.

"We're...starting to get to know each other right now," Robot pointed out, a slight tremble in his voice.

"I know," Nicole sighed, looking reluctant. "I have to go pick up my other kids pretty soon here, though. I intend to make as much effort as I can to meet up with you more, but there's only so much I can do..."

Robot felt a slight pang. Feeling selfish, he wanted to hug her again and never let go; to beg her to spend weeks, months with him. In a way, the desire extended to such a length that he wanted to stop time and make up for every lost moment there. How ferocious the desire was made Robot feel kind of sick.

Looking down at the sidewalk, then up at Nicole, he smiled in a reserved understanding. "When do you think we could meet up again?"

"Thursday, next week at Jacob's around eight?" Nicole tried. "It's Richard's favorite restaurant...Do you think you'd be up for meeting him? I think it's only right you get to meet your dad, too."

"My...dad?"

"Of course!" Nicole smiled easily. "I wasn't a single parent." She furrowed her brows. "I...didn't strike a nerve-"

"No, that's just fine." Robot ran one claw over the other, imagining that he was playing with his heart. "That'd be perfect. Just...perfect."

{{{{{{{{{

"Dude...you're still playing b-ball with me after class today, right?" Black Star asked, his face a mix between expectant and absolutely bored.

"Yeah..."

"I convinced Kid to play a high stakes game," Black Star snickered. "And I asked him to bring Gina."

"What, did Tsubaki or one of the Thompson sisters put you up to it?"

Black Star shot Soul a weird look. "No way, man..."

Now Black Star lowered his voice when he noticed a particularly nosy raven haired girl leaning in and trying to catch snatches of their conversation. Inside, Soul wanted to roll his eyes. Of course some of the girls were dreadfully curious about who of their fellow kind was insane enough to pursue and deal with someone as high maintenance as Death the Kid...

"Her weapon Cat told me what freaks her out." Black Star was trying to suppress snickers. "She has a tick almost as bad as Kid's...She _hates_ the number eight! She makes a point of counting stuff to avoid ever seeing it."

"What the hell...?"

"Just imagine what sorts of reactions they'd have if, A: Kid had to go through an entire wing of _abstract _or _postmodern_ art. And, B: Somebody forced Gina to sit in front of eight objects that she _couldn't_ rearrange..."

Soul couldn't help the piranha grin on his face. "You're mad scientist brilliant! I'd pay top dollar to see that kind of freak out session!"

"Exactly what I wanted to hear." Black Star held up his fist and Soul returned the obligatory fist bump.

Just as they'd been talking, the class started getting up and leaving as the class let out; the raven haired girl actually made a point of glaring down her nose at Soul and Black Star, shaking her head in disgust. Soul returned her look, widening his grin to show off the full extent of his sharp canines.

"Soul, quit flirting!" Black Star chimed in, laughing.

Snorting, the girl rolled her eyes then stalked off, Soul's crimson eyes following her. Once she'd left, he joined in with Black Star's obnoxious laughter; they even made a few under-the-table jokes and comments about how Black Star felt sorry for Maka having to deal with girls clamoring to see Soul's charming "sharky" smile. Their camaraderie was interrupted by Professor Stein showing up out of the blue and fixing the two teenagers with a pointed look behind the glare of his glasses.

As usual, he was sitting backwards on the obligatory office chair, his chin balanced on his folded arms; measured impatience conveyed through the way he tapped the side of his chair with his fingers and the slight frown on his face.

"Soul, would you mind sticking around a few minutes?" A demand, not a request.

Helpless, Soul gave Black Star a wary smile and a shrug. Waving and muttering "Whatever", Black Star got up and excused himself. When Soul returned Stein's gaze, he was unnervingly aware of his bro's receding footsteps, his lifeline to normality quickly disappearing.

It didn't matter how long he'd been sitting in Stein's classes or what Soul knew about him from previous occasions where he'd actually had to fight alongside Stein in taking down more ferocious, higher scale kishin. There was still always something very unnerving and jolting about being in the same proximity as the man.

"I know about that...composition you've been poking at," Stein cut directly to the chase.

Soul sighed, slumping back in his chair as the air seemed to deflate from him. "I had a feeling Lord Death would have you follow up on it..."

The two just stared at each other for a long, silent moment, Stein's expression unreadable.

"Just so you know, you're not being excluded from the investigation," Stein assured. "As a matter of fact, you're exactly the person we'd need."

"How so?" Soul became incredibly wary, sitting forward in his chair earnestly.

"I want to conduct an experiment," Stein replied. "You're going to play _Damien's Rhapsody_ and I want to measure just how drastic the effects are on _me_."

"Hell no!" The words came out as a string of memories zipped through Soul's mind. His hands started shaking as Maka's nightmare grin leaked into his mind, followed by the distant sound of the squawking, uncontrollable laughter Stein lapsed into when he was at his worst with the madness. Taking several steps back, he gritted his teeth to the point his gums were aching, his fingers electric rods. All of the worst imagery melted into one sole, striking mental cue: Maka as she fell into the first throes and fits of her current coma.

"Hell. No!" He yelled the words this time. "I won't do it!"

To his dismay, Stein only looked that much more set and resolute in his decision.

"I already made arrangements with Marie," Stein explained in a clipped tone. "This will be under _very_ controlled circumstances. I'll be fine."

"Couldn't you use some other instrument or device to measure-?"

"The madness has to affect someone in order for me to properly measure it," Stein replied.

"I'm not doing it."

"Soul!" Stein's voice had a slight edge to it now. "We need to know just how potent the Rhapsody is, just in case Bricklin ever does get his hands on it. The sooner we know, the more quickly we can see if an antidote is possible."

"If Tin Can could write something this bad, he can _easily_ write something more deadly..."

"Perhaps," Stein conceded. "But, think of it this way: You'll have a cure for Maka...That's our immediate objective, is it not?"

"Yeah..." he replied, stopping, and letting his shoulders drop. He looked up at Stein, brows furrowed. "By the way...How's the sun goddess holding up?"

"Not very well," Stein replied somberly as he stood up from his chair. "One of her fellow royalty was...murdered just this morning."

Soul closed his eyes and started massaging his forehead.

"She's thousands of years old, so she's probably dealt with death before," Stein assuaged, albeit grimly. "It's her protege that really needs emotional support right now..."

Nervously, Soul sat at the wooden bench, clenching the sides with shaking fingers. He peered around the huge polished mahogany piano: There stood Lord Death himself, his goofy facade hinting at his true, more hidden horrific nature. Beside him was a stoic Stein, sitting still in a metal chair; a teary Marie gripped the back of the chair, pushing her blond hair out of her face. Red haired and more serious than usual Spirit leaned in towards Stein and spoke to him in low, somber tones.

Gnawing on his lip, Soul gave in to morbid curiosity and cast his gaze across the room: There went the retreating forms of the alicorn sun goddess Celestia and her protege Twilight Sparkle. As Stein had sordidly reported, recent events left Twilight in shambles. Even though he couldn't see the purple alicorn's face, the way she dipped her head and shoulders, followed by Celestia dripping a delicate white wing around her in a delicate halo revealed volumes.

Lump caught in his throat, Soul reached up and idly stroked one of the bright ivory keys. When had his beloved craft become such a burden on his own soul? He lightly pressed down on the chosen key, smiling in a very macabre fashion at the sweet, chiming echo...

"Alright, Soul, Octavia, Vinyl," Lord Death spoke up, his voice caught between its' cheery mask and the true, husky baritone. He, Marie, and Spirit stood behind transparent blue shields, looking on with worried eyes; Stein was clamped down to his chair with purple energy ribbons now. No fear in his expression, only pure determination.

Only now did Soul cast a look at the other musicians joining in the dreaded trio. Two of Equestria's best musicians had stepped up to the task: a beige pony with a raven mane nervously tapping at a microphone and another white pony with a wild blue one taking deep breaths as she stared at her saxophone. The longer he hesitated, the more the tension in the room grew; the lump in Soul's throat was a grapefruit now.

Swallowing, he leaned forward and stomped on the pedals, fingers beginning to dance in a wicked line dance. Only a few seconds passed before the other two joined in. Soul's chest constricted as his part quickly ascended to the all-too-familiar discordant, Schroeder tones. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself and just focus on his current task, but it was difficult. It became impossible when he seemed to exit his body for a brief amount of time: From an unorthodox third person perspective, he was looking down at Stein.

Already, the professor was writhing like a snake, his teeth clenched so much there may as well be cracks and fissures starting from the overwhelming pressure. As the song continued to intensify, dark purple aura emanated from Stein as he started screaming: wild, loud, and bloodcurdling screams.

Then Octavia started singing, her voice a clear, lucid bell. All Soul could focus on was watching the lenses of Stein's glasses crack and break, splintering into a glittering rain. From there, his pupils shrank, becoming overridden by a pattern of red veins as if his eyeballs would pop right out of their sockets.

Unlike the previous time Stein had been overcome with madness, though, he wasn't hollering about how he wanted to dissect everything in sight.

Instead, he just kept screaming. His skin turned pale white and, as if someone were drawing on him, unrecognizable bright green symbols appeared all over his face, neck, and every visible patch of skin. The symbols acted like holes: ectoplasmic green spirit energy wafted up and out, seeming to writhe and trying to transform into...something.

"SOUL!" Marie shrieked. "STOP IT!"

He wanted to, but his fingers were uncontrollable puppets pulled and maneuvered by unseen strings. Wildly, he craned his head: Octavia was starting to scream and writhe, her form covered in the same symbols as Stein. The next few moments were a dizzy blur: Celestia was galloping towards them now; she physically rammed herself into the piano and knocked Soul off of the bench, tackling him to the floor.

Pain ratcheted from his shoulders to his wrists when Celestia stomped down on him, effectively pinning him to the floor. He realized he was breathing heavily, that he was exhausted and drenched with depression. Heart beating a steady rhythm in his chest, all he could do was stare p into Celestia's regal face.

Her violet eyes were shining with so much regret and pain. Never in his life had Soul ever expected to see such emotion conveyed in the face of an equine, let alone feel like the strings of his heart had been physically yanked out and plucked.

{{{{{{{{{

Ever since Robot had met with Nicole, it'd been enough to carve into his recent depression.

Change had been an oncoming freight train. Monster recently quit at The Blinking Lights Factory after Robot revealed what Nessie had shared with him recently. Now both he and Monster were packing up their possessions while Invisible made arrangements to set up living quarters for them all there earlier than the wedding date.

Monday rolled around and a lot of work had gotten done. And, the majority of the exhausted party had decided to take today as a lazy day, even though Robot thought otherwise. He hadn't really wanted time to sit around and think; being busy gave him purpose, and at the end of the day, he was so busy he just slept through the night, nightmares or not. But, living with three other people meant compromise. Lots of compromise.

So far though, Robot couldn't complain. He didn't wake up until the stroke of noon that day. Silly smile scribbling onto his face, he enjoyed just how relaxing and fulfilling a return to deep sleep felt. Sighing, he rolled around under the blankets, but he didn't really want to get up. So, he spent close to twenty minutes just lying there and staring up at the ceiling.

"Are you awake yet, Robot?" Gizmo asked in a loud whisper from the other side of the room.

"Yes, Gizmo!" he yelled back, grinning giddily and rolling his eyes.

"Monster and I are gonna go get ice cream. Wanna go?"

"No thanks."

"I'll get you a vanilla cone topped with bacon bits!" Gizmo called as he left the room.

Robot rolled his eyes again before pulling the blankets over his head and falling back asleep again. Yet, barely into the moment he closed his eyes, Robot regretted his decision. Instantly, he was transported to that eerily familiar dark room, the one with the red curtains and the pictures hanging all over the walls. And here he'd started to believe that these nightmares had stopped.

Taking a deep breath, he resisted the urge to start screaming and clawing at the blankets; he could wake back up and be back in pleasant reality with Gizmo and Monster, but instead, he decided to just confront this creature. Since it refused to go away, he'd force it to by will power alone.

Unlike the previous times, though, the paintings on the wall, especially the one of the girl, were very striking and defined. For a long moment, Robot studied the portrait, feeling that it was important for some reason: The portrait was of a young human girl, around fifteen or sixteen years old; she was petite with very few curves or defining womanly features. The only reason Robot could tell was that in the portrait she wore an elegant, form fitting black velvet dress. Long dirty blond hair fell around her face and down her shoulders in waves; a pair of goose egg green eyes looked out, their color a bright contrast against the other, darker colors.

"Hey, Robot, right?" called a soft voice.

Robot turned around and was surprised to find the girl from the portrait sitting cross-legged on the piano. She was smiling, her head tilted at an angle as she quietly studied him with the same curiosity he had towards her unfamiliar species.

"Yeah," he replied simply.

"It's nice to meet you," she said, stepping down from the piano and slowly approaching him. "I'm Maka."

Immediately, Robot's pupils shrank to pinheads. "As in...the girl that scythe guy talks about all the time...?" He started shaking, keeping his eyes directed at her green ones. Any moment now, _her_ arms would turn into wicked scythe blades and she'd dig into him with the same, if not worse, ferocity than what Soul was originally. (Right now, Robot wished that Gizmo wasn't so obsessed with that anime.)

"Yes," she said evenly, her face crumpling up with guilt. "That's...what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What's there to talk about?! He wants to _kill_ me."

"That's...all because of a _very_ gross misunderstanding-"

"There's no misunderstanding that can justify him threatening me like that!" Robot cried. "He plays judge, jury, and executioner based on his assertions alone. He never lets me get a word in edgewise. Every time I _try_ to defend myself he sticks his scythe blade in my face!"

"I know his reasons are misguided," Maka sighed, looking kind of tired. "If it means anything, I asked him to stop harassing you. Made him promise, too."

In reply, Robot glared suspiciously at her, arms folded, and heart hammering in his chest.

Silent and intimidating as a ghost, Soul slinked up out of the shadows and wrapped his arms protectively around Maka. Like a protective puppy he placed his head in the crook between her neck and shoulder. With a short, whispered dialogue, she batted him away.

The entire time he watched the exchange, something occurred to Robot: There'd been times where he would have built death rays or laser cannons to protect the honor of the woman he loved. Seeing this young couple in action almost made Robot empathize with why Soul had been so ready and eager to threaten him like he had.

"She made me promise," Soul alleged, his face unreadable.

"Why should I trust _either_ of you?" Robot directed.

"Good point, tin can," Soul sighed. He looked at his feet, then back at Robot. This was the first time he'd seen Soul express an emotion other than cool indifference or burning rage. Somehow, the kid actually looked regretful, like he'd been trampled underfoot; he even had purple sleep-deprived shadows under his eyes like Robot did. "I still don't see why_ I_ should trust _you_."

"Soul!" Maka barked, barring his way with her arm and glaring dagger points at him.

"I've studied _Damien's Rhapsody_ with close scrutiny," he pointed out, his red eyes blazing as he pinned Robot with a death glare. "This morning, I figured out exactly what happened: The rhapsody can amplify madness to such dangerous levels that it could kill a regular mortal. It can rip the dark side right out of a person and uses their inner evil to overwhelm the senses and kill them..."

Eyes wide, Maka turned and looked at Soul. "How did you figure this out?"

"Professor Stein found out I had a copy and told me to test it out on him," Soul confessed, sweat beading and pouring down his forehead. "He...he's in the hospital wing with you right now. Recovering..."

"Why didn't you tell me this before...?"

"Hey, Robot!" Soul barked, his tone an auditory fire and brimstone. "I hope you're happy! Mission successful for you and Bricklin, right?! Now you have the exact tool you need to harvest souls for the Big Bossman, huh?!"

Maka's fingers started shaking as she feebly pressed against Soul's chest. Ice drenched Robot's circuitry as both Soul's arms turned into scythe blades, but this time, they were a pair of bright blue and violet flames. Mouth turning to cotton, Robot imagined just how easily those flames could burn through and melt down his metal chassis.

"I've _never_ been associated with Bricklin, you psychopath!" Robot shrieked. "He was a horrible father! He disowned me, dammit! Why the hell would I want anything to do with him now? And, for your information: Both you _and_ Bricklin can go to hell in a fucking hand basket! I'd gladly deliver you down there myself!"

The second he finished his tirade, Robot awoke, breathing heavily, and drenched in sweat. Strangely enough, though, somebody was hugging him. Tightly. A paw was stroking his back gently, motherly.

"I had no idea," Nicole whispered, her breath hitching. "Oh, God, Robot...I wish I'd known. I wish I'd known. Appropriate finances or not, Richard and I would have fought tooth and nail to get you away from that nightmare."

"Mom...?" Robot squeaked, wondering if he was still dreaming.

"Yes, baby," she sniffed. "Mama's here. And I'm not leaving. _Never_ again."

"I...just had a bad dream," Robot managed, blushing in embarrassment as the current situation started settling in. "I've been having recurring nightmares lately. No big deal."

Much to his dismay, Nicole only hugged Robot tighter.

"If you'll let me, I want to be the mom you never had," Nicole was begging. "I can't erase the past, but-"

"You already started," Robot said evenly.

"...what?"

"You already started," Robot sighed. "Just meeting you was a miracle. You don't know how much that alone affected me..."

"Really?" Nicole pulled away from the embrace and held him at arm's length; her eyes were wide, glittering orbs.

"Yeah!" Robot let out a long, airy breath. "Meeting you was the highlight my week. Not just my week, but, my life."

"You...don't know just how happy I am to hear that," Nicole warbled. Tears leaked out of her eyes and down her cheek as she let go of his shoulders and took one of his claws. With a very uncharacteristically shy smile, she pulled out her wallet and revealed a book of pink tickets. Each of the tickets had "Daisyland" printed on them in neat, strawberry pink font. Childhood longing to go to the theme park every ten-year-old dreamed of visiting surged in Robot.

Biting his lip, he fixed Nicole with a confused look. "I know I'm jumping the gun on this, but I wanted to let you know that you're invited to come with us over spring vacation." She gave a small smile. "Richard won a sweepstakes yesterday for six people to go and...He insisted that you get one of the tickets. He's...actually been texting me the entire way over here asking if you've accepted the offer..." Nicole looked kind of sheepish as she furrowed her brows. "Remember what you hinted at about Gizmo...? After meeting your cousin, I...have a feeling he and Richard would get along swimmingly..."

"Mrs. Watterson, is Robot up yet?!" As if on cue, Gizmo entered the room. "His cone melted."

Both Nicole and Robot turned to see Gizmo holding a crushed cone. Vanilla ice cream and bacon bits poured out of the top and ran down the cone, covering his fingers.

"Hey Robot, do you still want your cone?"

"No thanks," Robot replied, rolling his eyes.

With that, Gizmo stuffed the entire cone in his mouth and chewed noisily, even made a show out of licking his fingers. Once he left, both Robot and Nicole stared blankly at where he'd just been, then at each other.

"Yup..." Nicole smacked her lips. "Just like Richard."

"Can't wait to meet him!" Robot conceded, smiling.

Then the two burst out laughing giddily. For the rest of the afternoon, Robot and Nicole swapped stories about their favorite pair of imaginative and childish dunderheads.

"Wear this!" Gizmo said. Then he spotted another item and rifled through the various clothing items that he and Princess Invisible had knitted and crocheted. He held up the scarf victoriously, a bright smile on his face. "You _have_ to wear this!" he insisted.

Every day brought Robot closer to his breaking point with Gizmo's absurd obsession. What made things worse was that Monster had been reeled in, too; Robot had heard Gizmo and Monster eagerly discussing the show at length to the point they argued about plot points or character motivations. With that in mind, Robot didn't even try to hide his displeasure at the scarf Gizmo had picked out.

"This character is so much like you, you could be twin brothers!" Gizmo brokered with a giddy smile.

"That makes me want to wear that even less," Robot snarked.

"Let me point out the similarities!" Gizmo held up his hands in an emphatic "bear with me" gesture. "Kid suffers from major asymmetriphobia; you suffer from pupaphobia and a weird phobia of lollipops!"

"Do you know what kind of choking hazard the sticks on those things are?!" Robot protested, starting to shake. "Not to mention, the vibrant colors and patterns make me feel like I'm on an LSD trip...If I wanted to feel the effects of a hallucinogen, I'd be actively taking one!"

"Kid's anal about details to the point he nags people and becomes hypercritical. You nag and lecture people for lack of common sense."

"Why shouldn't I?" Robot interjected, folding his arms. "_Somebody_ needs to be able to keep you and Monster in line. I'll admit that I'm not perfect myself, but I'm not afraid to be blunt when I absolutely have to be."

"Kid has weird mood swings; when he's too overwhelmed by his phobia, he gets angsty or depressed. You're kind of an emo sometimes-"

"I don't wear black or have weird colored hair!" Robot complained, then smacked his forehead into his claw. "Congratulations, Gizmo, you made me hate a fictitious character." Then Robot looked up, a wariness in his eyes. "Do you honestly have any idea how embarrassing my lollipop phobia is? Just how many weird looks I get for it? Next time you start laughing at _this_ character's phobia, try looking at things from _his_ perspective..."

"I'm not trying to be rude, Sane Cousin, I mean, Normal, Everyday Robot! No need to get so defensive over fiction!" Gizmo laughed. "So, will you wear the scarf?"

Robot groaned inwardly, then held up a claw. "Fine, but only because Monster would _guilt_ me into it if _you_ didn't force me to."

"There's the hypercritical side peeking out right there!" Gizmo wore a megawatt smile.

"I forgot just how far you'd go for a joke..." Robot started smiling. "Kudos."

"Ah...I'm not joking." Gizmo frowned.

Robot let out an irritated grunt as Gizmo wrapped the scarf around his neck. As he left the room, Robot looked down at the stitching: Gizmo's fingers were surprisingly nimble and he had great attention to detail when it came to stitching. Yet, the longer Robot stared, the more it became obvious that Gizmo and Invisible really had too much free time right now. They knew how to fill it in interesting ways, but too much nonetheless.

When Robot reached the front door, he looked longingly at his favored plaid scarf there. Quickly, he cast a glance over his shoulder. Gizmo was loud enough to announce his arrival, tripping over himself as he stumbled down the hall after Robot in a huge tangle of cloth scraps. The tall, lanky Mechanical was laughing and rolling, entertaining himself by creating a mess the likes a rambunctious five-year-old would cringe at.

Rolling his eyes, Robot exited the apartment and walked out into the clear night. He absentmindedly reached up and pulled at his scarf as he looked up at the faint, winking stars. Someday soon, he'd get to see a sky that wasn't overwhelmed by so much light pollution...

Invisible heaved a sigh as she dropped the box she'd been carrying, then dropped down on top of it. She sat in a very un-lady like way, her boot heels the only part of her shoe touching the floor.

"It's time for a break!" she announced.

"What's it like in the Crystal Kingdom?" Robot asked for the umpteenth time, purposefully parking the box he'd been carrying next to hers.

Blowing out a breath, Invisible looked at Robot through lidded eyes, then broke out in a wide smile.

"I'm moving there. Blindly. By your and Gizmo's recommendations alone!"

"You've mentioned that a million times, 'Bot," Invisible groaned, exasperated, yet she was wearing a smile.

Adjusting herself, she leaned forward on her knees, folding her hands under her chin. "Everything in the Crystal Kingdom is made of solidified light beams," she started, gaze misting as her mind traveled home. "For the most part, the Kingdom looks like a utopia: Greenery everywhere, a bunch of flora and fauna set up Babylonian style. All of that is a tribute to King Invisible's personal guest, Elijah Default. A token of appreciation from my people, the Borealians, for his efforts to help us start establishing relations with physical beings all across the universe..."

"Elijah Default?" Robot looked confused. "He was...committed to the insane asylum-"

"He's been in there off and on, yes," Invisible sighed, shaking her head. "Every other dimension in the multiverse has been accepting of the existence of Borealians _except_ yours."

"Rewind a bit. Start from the beginning!" Robot made motions with his claws.

Invisible grinned. "I'm not giving you a history lesson...The Kingdom's better live and in person," she said dreamily. "Show, don't tell!"

"You just enjoy keeping me in the dark, don't you?!"

"Come on, have a sense of mystery, why don't you!" Invisible snickered. "Let your imagination run wild...if you have one, that is. Then you'll find out that the real deal is a hundred times better!"

When Robot glared, she rolled her eyes and sat up, unfolding her hands. "Oh, alright. Well, you know how Gearsburg or any modern town has light pollution?" Now her eyes were glowing softly. "The Crystal Kingdom has a solution beyond just going to the countryside. My kingdom is located in-between dimensions, which gives my people a front and center view of the universe. We see the stars as they move in real time, Robot. Not the reflection you're stuck with here on Earth..." Her smile widened. "There's a special reason why Gizmo and I put off our wedding to a later date: A supernova is scheduled to explode the day we get married."

Robot blinked, coming out of his reverie as a familiar old station wagon gently rolled up to the curb. To his utter surprise, the passenger in the shotgun seat was a very ecstatic and excited rabbit; he was rolling down the window as fast as physically possible. "ARGUS!" he yelled. "It's me, Daddy!"

The loud, booming voice made Robot cringe; he could hear a car alarm clattering just down the street.

"H-hi," Robot managed, heart beating in his chest. "Nice to-"

It was obvious that Richard lacked the understanding and patience Nicole possessed. Immediately, he emerged from the car and gathered Robot into a gigantic bear hug. The older man's joy turned into a warbling and weeping display. Staring with wide eyes, Robot wondered just how much of Richard's water percentage was getting spilled with the barrels and buckets of tears leaking from his eyes.

"Argus!" he blubbered.

"I...go by..." Just before the name 'Robot' came out of his mouth, he vaguely wondered why he was still using that name.

"I missed you, Argus!" Richard cried.

In a slight daze, Robot reached out and hugged him back, patting him lightly on the shoulder. Robot was caught between overwhelming feelings of awkwardness and weird affection. Despite the confusion, though, Robot started to get impatient the longer the embrace lasted.

Suddenly, Richard's stomach growled and he-_finally_-released Robot. "Bacon cheeseburgers sound really good right now..." Richard mumbled.

"_Bacon_ cheeseburgers?" Robot's eyes widened and he started drooling.

"Yeah! That's Jacob's specialty!" Richard gushed, eyes shining. "The bacon is in-between being too soft or too crispy. It has just the right amount of grease and-" He grabbed Robot by the shoulders. "Mere description doesn't properly ascribe why it's the food of the gods. You have to try it for yourself, son!"

"I _love_ bacon!" Robot grinned like a complete moron.

"What are we waiting for?!" Richard grabbed Robot and tucked him under his large arm, catapulting back into the station wagon.

The two grown men started chanting "Bacon" and sharing different stories and experiences about their beloved breakfast accessory. Once they reached the restaurant, Richard had managed to hype up the burger so much, Robot felt just how empty his stomach was. Not to mention, Robot had heaven bound expectations for one simple burger; the thought was ludicrous from a third person perspective, yet it also made Robot acknowledge that the large pink rabbit had an uncanny talent for tempting and persuasion.

"Richard," Nicole said suddenly, a wide smile on her face. "You mentioned the bacon _burger_, but you forgot to mention the fries!"

Richard gasped, then looked back at Robot, a silly smile stretching across his face. "The burger's my favorite, but just about everything on the menu has bacon in it!"

"I've just died and gone to heaven..." Robot gasped in a sing-song voice.

Jacob's was owned and managed by an older, reddish brown Mechanical man named the titular Jacob, but he insisted everyone call him Litterbug. Most of his employees were fellow family members; the waitresses were his sextuplet granddaughters who all had names starting with 'J': Jacqueline, Janis, Janet, Janine, Janey, and Jam. All of this was relayed to Robot through Richard, a renowned and favorite customer of Jacob's.

Nicole and Richard snickered and smiled every time one of the waitresses casually flirted with Robot and asked him if he knew which was one was speaking to him; they were all absolutely gorgeous, being full-figured, curvy, and busty with copper red chassis and shoulder-length red hair. Robot would be kidding himself if his uneducated comment about being in heaven had not only been met, but absolutely surpassed.

As the time whittled away, he learned more about Richard's favorite fantasy role playing games and Nicole's proud position as a manager and mother between every bite of nostalgically perfect bacon he ate.

"How _are_ rainbows produced?" Robot asked Nicole, wide-eyed and absolutely curious.

Nicole smiled and laughed. "I can't reveal factory secrets!"

"I don't _need_ to know what binding agents you use," Robot said, before smirking and rattling off a series of his guesses under his breath. Tone too low to be eavesdropped, but loud enough that Nicole could hear, her eyes widened and she gasped. Those reactions gave Robot a sick sense of triumph, but he hid his smile as soon as Nicole started glaring.

"Don't go telling anyone," she warned.

"Those were just the binding agents..." Robot looked at the ceiling as he bated. "I don't know what actually makes the dyes and colors used for the rainbows themselves."

"There's some factory secrets I'm not privy to," Nicole said in a low, irritated voice. "Don't toy with me, young man. I'm a force-"

"I'm kidding. I just wanted to know the general process," Robot amended, holding up a declarative claw. "The stuff seen on the tour..."

Blowing out a relieved breath, Nicole lowered her lids. "I'll nab you and your friend some tickets."

"Are you guys talking about Mr. Home-made Lemonade?" Richard was smiling cheekily.

Gasping, Robot shot an incredulous look before rounding back towards Nicole. Sheepishly, Nicole smiled and shrugged helplessly. "I _had _to tell him!"

"I guess we're even." Robot shrugged.

"Tell that guy he's awesome!" Richard whispered, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Gumball and Darwin want to grow up to be just like him..." Nicole groaned, burying her face in her hands now.

"He's inspired me, too!" Richard added. "I've been trying to come up with the nastiest lemonade recipe ever..." He tapped the table top as he sniggered. "And I plan on making Gumball be the first unsuspecting taste-tester."

"I'll be sure to tell Monster he's started a trend..." Robot convinced, trying to force a smile. Yet, despite the sentiment he was expressing, his tone sounded hollow. Actually, he felt a strange twinge of jealousy, followed by a pang of guilt for being selfish. Right now, Robot was getting a brief taste of why Monster got upset and kind of heckled by how much more fond his younger sister Globitha was of Robot than of him.

"I hope you don't mind, Robot, but I told Anais about some of your inventions," Nicole interjected suddenly.

Immediately, Robot's jealousy towards Mr. "Home-made Lemonade" was replaced by a bizarre unease.

"Isn't his name Argus?" Richard asked vacantly.

Blinking, Robot wasn't quite sure how to react. Feebly, he looked out at the 1950's décor and facade of the restaurant, blushing as one of the waitresses waved at him and idly wondering how Nessie would feel about having a real competitor for the Makin' Bacon just on the outskirts of Gearsburg. Swallowing, he turned back towards Nicole, surprised at just how blank his mind seemed to be getting.

"What...did you tell her?" he asked. He felt so ridiculous. Last week, he'd been poring over schematics with this woman; she'd comforted him from a nightmare. On some level, he knew he could relate and open up to her, that with time the chasm between them could be closed. Yet, he felt a bizarre anxiety; he was closing up like a clam.

"I told her about your saxophone made out of light rays," Nicole replied evenly. Her lips twitched as she started playing with the rainbow-button on her shirt front. "She was fascinated by how you intended to capture and project the light rays into the shape of a saxophone using the...?"

"An advanced and manipulated series of magnets employing the Faraday effect," Robot filled in.

"Right." She'd removed her button now. "I think you've _inspired_ Anais."

This caught Robot by surprise; he could feel his mouth turning into a small "O."

"Yeah, she wants to be an inventor and make cool stuff like you do!" Richard added as a Grinch-like grin crawled onto his face. "Have you ever gone _mad_ scientist...?"

"Would you mind if I showed Anais one of your schematics?" Nicole asked, slapping Richard lightly on the wrist.

"I don't have them with me," Robot said honestly. "I packed them away with all of my other stuff. I'm moving soon..."

"Where are you moving to?" Nicole asked, folding her hands and lacing her fingers together. She'd been aware that Robot was moving, but now was the first time he'd noticed her slight apprehension. Not that he could blame her. From what Invisible had been trumpeting lately, the Crystal Kingdom was definitely far away from Gearsburg; possibly a distance as vast as that as the land of Oz from Kansas.

"I'll find a way to keep in contact with you," Robot told her with a sudden urgency. "I promise. I'm not disappearing again. It's just...I have a job interview lined up there and a place to stay. I know the timing is inconvenient, but...I'm kind of under pressure and..."

Abruptly, he stopped talking. All of his yammering felt pointless and it seemed like nothing he could say would wipe the mute sense of unease in Nicole's face from the slant of her eyebrows to the slump of her shoulders. Despite her body language screaming her true feelings, Nicole said: "I understand."

Silently, she grabbed a napkin, took a pen out of Richard's shirt pocket-much to his chagrin-and scribbled a phone number down.

"Call us as soon as you get there," she whispered with a sweet smile.

Slowly, Robot reached out to take the napkin. For a brief moment, his claw touched Nicole's paw. Affectionately, she wrapped her fingers around his claw and gently squeezed. Just that one simple touch sent a brief electric shock through Robot: How had he been so easily convinced to let Gizmo and Princess Invisible whisk him away from a home he'd known all of his life...?

When he looked up, he felt the clockwork of his mind grinding and working overtime: There, hidden in the very darkest and unknown corners, were memories of his days as a baby. Comparing those images of a younger, more spritely cat and rabbit with the two living, breathing people right in front of him, he experienced a revelation. Something that should have been his first thought, but had been submerged until this very, essential moment.

How could he leave home when he'd finally discovered one of the biggest, most unexpected pieces of his life? A reason that could very well be his newfound reason for living?

Smiling, Robot squeezed his mother's paw. Heart glowing with demure candle light, he could hear murmurs of notes in his mind. Sweeping piano notes blending and mixing delicately with a contemplative saxophone. If _Damien's Rhapsody_ had been the full musical expression of how horrid his childhood had been, then_ Sonata of Nicole's Search_ would be the hallmark of a new, vibrantly wonderful beginning...

As soon as Robot got home, he knew he'd found the inspiration to pick up his saxophone again. With a giddy smile and a slight skip in his step, he took his saxophone and polished it with a soft cloth, chuckling softly when he noticed a very conspicuous Princess Invisible sneaking peeks at him. Once he finished, he knew he needed secrecy. Despite his inner joy bursting like fireworks and his new, surging desire to tell everybody just how great the view was from Cloud Nine, he felt like he needed some time alone. Time to reflect, calm down, and process such a natural high.

No warning precedent, he ghosted off to his room and shut the door behind him, locking it. Silently, he smiled to himself as he swiped at the saxophone reed and wandered towards the nearest bedroom window. There was a bright white moon in the center of the sky, surrounded by twinkling stars and overlooking the darkened, silhouetted shapes of the city below. Closing his eyes, Robot felt his imagination become more active than it was normally: The view outside the window was imprinted on the backs of his eyelids, but the shapes seemed to blur and meld, melting into an entirely new figure altogether.

To Robot's utter surprise, the night sky became a whirl of dark skirts, the moon the pale and smiling face of a girl, and the stars a pair of eyes. Tranquility numbing him from head to wheels, he started to play: The saxophone bellowed out with a low and sweet sound. In a way, it sounded like an alto singing, but without any discernible lyrics. Perhaps, that was what Nicole sounded like when she sang?

For a few seconds, Robot continued like this, reveling in simplicity. Yet, the mental image his mind had stirred up looked at him expectantly, with a hidden yearning.

"Play what you feel in your heart," she urged, gesturing. "I can see your intentions in your eyes. Let them come out and burst to life!"

She was absolutely right. Heart beating like a snare drum, Robot decided to let wild and loose. Without hesitation, he started zipping straight into his virtuoso prowess, erupting with vibrant and raw power as he imagined the improvisatory style of fusion jazz. Not to be egotistical, but alone, Robot felt like he was channeling Louis Armstrong's legendary trumpet talent, only with the saxophone. But, as explosively brilliant as his playing seemed to be, he needed a bigger push. Someone to contrast and jam with him that could easily sync into his wavelength and help him weave this composition.

Just as the fleeting thought crossed his mind, Robot felt like someone else had spontaneously entered the room; the light brush of fingers against his upper arm. He opened his eyes; he wasn't in his bedroom anymore. He was back in that anonymous room that appeared in his nightmares. Fear grabbed him and crunched like an iron vise as he turned to see who it was.

Of course, it was shark-like Soul. Only, he seemed less formal than usual: he was wearing a Letterman jacket in lieu of his trademark suit and positioned in front of a keyboard. Before Robot could scream, Soul was pecking out a rhythm on the keyboard, trying to have the instrument play the role of basic rhythm. He played a few bars, seeming to wait for Robot to chime back in with the trumpet. When he didn't, Soul dived at the piano and played a cheerful, uplifting melody.

Heart strings plucked as the piano's sound vibrated through Robot: It resembled a bright, sunshine filled day. This was the soundtrack that Robot could imagine playing on the day he'd meet Gumball, Darwin, and Anais for the first time. With a swell of excitement, Robot joined back in on the saxophone, breathing all of his happiness into the brass. Swaying back and forth, the instrument had become a physical extension of himself. Every note that he played was an erupting, colorful accent expressing the deep, gushing wells of his euphoria.

Soul and Maka faded, vanishing and melting back into the somber grays and blues of Robot's familiar bedroom. As he wound down from the song, Robot lowered the intensity of his saxophone, looking out at the moon overhead as he spiraled down to a stop. Once he finished, Robot was touching the very outer fringes of blissful nirvana. Music had healed his soul; he felt an inner knowledge and confirmation that the nightmares would stop. Tonight, he was going to have a deep and very relaxing sleep.

Yawning, Robot turned towards his bed...and found a completely unexpected figure lying there under the covers. Slowly, she looked up at Robot with tentative green eyes and a small smile.

"Hi," she squeaked.

"I'm hallucinating," Robot warbled.

"No...you're not," Maka said soberly as she pulled the blankets aside and sat up. "_I'm_ the one hallucinating." Biting down on her lip, she reached up and touched her forehead.

"Sane Cousin Robot, are you doing impressions?" Gizmo was on the other side of the closed door. Nervously, Robot looked at the disoriented human girl, brows furrowing as his insides started filling with ice. Subzero hit as the doorknob started jiggling.

"The impressions are nice, but I really want to-" Gizmo stopped talking as soon as he opened the door. A long moment passed, raising Robot's anxiety as Gizmo stared blankly. But the long, gangly Mechanical being still and silent didn't last long. Much to Robot's relief, surprise, and confusion, Gizmo was ambushing Maka, grabbing her by the shoulders and mumbling incoherently. Mumbling led to squeals, then Gizmo smiling in a way-too-eager way as he begged: "Tell me how you got here and then take me with you!"

Absolutely freaked out, the girl bit down on her lip and shook her head. "I don't know and...Absolutely not!" She grabbed Gizmo's sleeves and wrenched herself from his grip. Then she leaped to the point she was standing, holding back her hand as electric sparks danced and twirled around her fingers.

"I don't want to attack you, but I won't hesitate if you get up in my face like that again!"

Ogo blinked, coming out of his daydreams when he realized he wasn't the only one outside on the front lawn right now: The elderly Mr. Wheelie was out and about, too. Looking through a telescope, he opened and closed his hands around the spokes of his wheels. From his frenetic body movement, he seemed to be anxious and wary about something.

Initially out of concern, Ogo approached Wheelie, burning with curiosity as to what kind of astronomical happening could jar the old man's usually grouchy and jaded demeanor this much. At the same time, he also casually pondered where the window of Robot and Monster's apartment was so he could wheel the telescope in that direction and, potentially, spy on them.

Flight of fancy aside, Ogo looked up towards the sky; he didn't need a telescope to see this. A rainbow glowed, a brilliant stretch of neon colors as it scrolled across the night like a slowly unfolding banner.

"LGBT's getting more ambitious..." Wheelie muttered, shaking his head. "No need for that in Gearsburg, though. I thought the mayor already passed that ordinance..."

Ogo was about to respond, but bit his tongue instead when he realized Wheelie was probably talking to himself. It was better that Wheelie didn't know he was here anyway; Ogo could only imagine what sorts of mean, sarcastic, or loaded response the grumpy old landlord would direct at him and what he preferred to think of as his "quirky tendencies."

All of those thoughts stopped when Ogo's eyes followed the rainbow and, inexplicably, highlighted on a silhouetted dark figure. At first, he assumed it was an airplane-

His thoughts were cut off by a large star burst of electricity, then a loud, audible _BOOM_. Eyes bugging, Ogo turned in time to see all of the windows of the apartment building burst and then scatter, falling in a bright, glittering rain. Distressed tenants looked out, calling out to each other and gripping at wind sills with nervous, shaking hands.

Suddenly, a loud shriek filled the night air. Ogo felt like he and everybody else around were one entity as they all turned and stared: A lone figure was dropping, falling at an alarming rate towards the street. Faint, sputtering rainbow blurbs spurted behind it.

Without thinking, Ogo rushed to the end of the sidewalk, eyes glued to the falling form. The closer it came, the more distinctive the form. Seconds passed in an indeterminable rush, each caught in-between shutter clicks of the camera in Ogo's mind. Right before the strange figure hit the ground, he had scurried out in the street, arms extended.

Gravity launched the figure into his arms, sending the two tumbling and rolling painfully across the asphalt and into the nearby grass. Even when they'd stopped moving, Ogo still felt like his insides were zigzagging and jumping like pinballs in a pinball machine. Several minutes passed. A small group of people had gathered around him and the stranger.

Gathering what composure he could, he turned and addressed the unexpected new arrival: "Are you alright...?"

Not believing his eyes, he watched as a pale blue pegasus grunted, trying to stand, but unable. Her wings were tattered, blue feathers sailing around her in a pillow fight brand burst. What caught his eye almost instantly, though, was that the upper half of her left wing had skin stripped away, revealing fragile bones and bits of red muscle. His jaw dropped as horror seeped into every part of his frame.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay..." she managed to say, but just barely. One of her pink irises expanded and shrank repeatedly, caught in a movie reel type loop.

"I just called 911!" Monster announced loudly as he emerged from the gathered group of people, holding up his phone.

A worried and regressed Gizmo clung to Monster's arm, looking out with an expression of both utter fascination and intense concern. Within nanoseconds, an unfamiliar, but gorgeous Mechanical girl rushed towards the pegasus' side and reached out with trembling hands, staring helplessly at her palms. Earnest, Ogo was caught in-between wanting to slap a tracking device on her and focusing on the mayhem and urgency of the current situation.

"Rainbow Dash!" the woman shrieked, tears pooling in her eyes.

With no regards to the current setting, Gizmo rushed out from behind Monster and flung himself at the woman, ensconcing her in his embrace. She clung to him, weeping loudly as the blue pegasus-Rainbow Dash- keened, then fell onto her side.

Intense curiosity ripped and fought within Ogo. One of his new, absolutely urgent missions was to figure out who this strange woman was and what relevance she held to Gizmo. Because, if she was important to Gizmo, then she had some kind of link to Robot and Monster, too. Frowning, Ogo could feel his gears and circuitry clicking and whirring with unease. With how closely he'd been monitoring and keeping tabs on Robot and Monster via his security cameras and otherwise, he should have been intimately familiar with who this woman was, from her favorite color to her innermost secrets...

That aside, he knew he had to focus on what was going on right here, right now. Even the two people that Ogo considered the center of his life and universe couldn't overpower how dire this situation was.

Earnestly, Ogo approached Rainbow Dash; he reached out tentatively and started stroking her spiky, rainbow-colored mane with his claw. She looked up at him now, her eyes wide and glassy, face turning ghostly white. Wielding his careful and lifelong-developed infinite patience, Ogo looked at her, waiting as she made gurgling noises and tried, over and over, to speak.

"I told you..." she finally managed, her voice a frog-like croak. "I'm just fine..."

"No, you're not," he said sternly, face drawn. "Help's on the way."

Rainbow Dash coughed suddenly, blood coming out and staining the grass, as well as dripping down her maw. Hopelessness seeped into her expression as her brows drew up in a morbidly resigned way. With a feeble smile, she commented: "That's such a stupid looking scarf..."

"I don't think so," Ogo protested, trying not to cringe at the blood. "It was made by a dear friend of mine."

"Then that scarf is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen..." Dash rolled her eyes as she smiled. _"I think I'm on my way out..."_ Dash's voice was weaker now.

The weight behind those words fell on Ogo like a thousand ton block. Shuddering, he wrapped his claws in the pegasus' mane and squeezed. Heart beating more steadily than it should have, he looked right into her eyes with conviction and whispered: "No. Not now."

"I wouldn't want it any other way..." she murmured dreamily. "Going out in a brilliant blaze of glory..."

Vibrant red and blue lights flashed and spilled across the night suddenly, drenching her in an abstract, almost Warholian cast.

"Help's here. You're going to be okay!" Ogo smiled encouragingly. "Let us help you!"

Dash smiled back weakly. "Stupid scarf..." She coughed. "I know this is as lot for a stranger to request on her deathbed, but the fate of the world rests on it..." Her eyes started closing and the pegasus just barely gasped her last words: "Watch out for the rainbows..."


End file.
